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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24488851">Here There Be Witchers</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostinthelibrary/pseuds/ghostinthelibrary'>ghostinthelibrary</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Where There's a Witcher [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, BAMF Jaskier | Dandelion, Canon-Typical Violence, Established Relationship, F/F, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Whump, Jaskier | Dandelion &amp; Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg Friendship, Kidnapping, M/M, Other, Rescue Missions, Road Trips, Torture</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 04:22:25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>56,218</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24488851</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostinthelibrary/pseuds/ghostinthelibrary</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>When Geralt vanishes on a routine hunt, Jaskier has to turn to the last person he wants to go to for help: his boyfriend’s prickly ex-lover, Yennefer. Jaskier and Yennefer barely know each other. They don’t really like each other. But as they realize Geralt has been caught up in a deadly trap, they’ll have to work together to save him.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion &amp; Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Triss Merigold/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Where There's a Witcher [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1604140</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>423</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>608</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Of Butchers and Bar Fights</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>And we're back! I hope you're all doing well and taking care of yourselves!</p><p>Just a general warning: Geralt does not have a good time in this fic (I'm starting to feel a bit bad about how mean I am to Geralt in everything I write) but please don't be too scared by the "Torture" tag. I will not get too in-depth into descriptions of injuries. He will be (mostly) fine, I promise.</p><p>Specific (and spoilery) content warnings for this chapter are in the end notes.</p><p>ETA 6/30/20: Thank you to Terresdebrume for the beautiful cover image for this fic! Cover images for the whole series can be found at https://www.tumblr.com/dashboard/blog/terresdebrume/622249613697662977</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p><p>“How much do you love me, Geralt?” Jaskier asks his boyfriend on a sunny, brisk morning in early spring while they’re in the middle of their daily sparring session.</p><p>Geralt gives a noncommittal hum. “Depends on the day.”</p><p>Jaskier sputters in outrage and jabs at Geralt with his wooden practice sword harder than he normally would. Because Geralt is a witcher and Jaskier is a lowly human, Geralt parries the blow easily. He has his sleeves rolled up and Jaskier keeps getting distracted by the corded muscles of his forearms. They’re just another one of Geralt’s many, many unfair advantages in a sword fight, along with the fact that he’s wearing leather pants. How is Jaskier supposed to concentrate on anything but that?</p><p>“I’ve been asked to take part in a lecture series at Oxenfurt University next month,” Jaskier says, when he’s recovered his balance. “It’s on magic’s place in modern society.”</p><p>“Hm.”</p><p>“I’ll be speaking about our adventures together, of course.”</p><p>“Of course.”</p><p>“I’d like you to come with me.”</p><p>“I don’t like speaking in front of crowds,” Geralt says.</p><p>“I wouldn’t make you do the talking, Geralt.” Jaskier rolls his eyes. “I’d actually like to be invited back.”</p><p>“I didn’t realize you wanted to go back to Oxenfurt so badly.” Geralt thrusts his sword at Jaskier.</p><p>Jaskier just barely manages to block it. “Normally, giving a lecture wouldn’t be my thing, but the worst musical history professor known to man, Dr. Valdo fucking Marx, is the one who invited me. Thought he was going to choke on it when he called to extend the invitation. You know, he called my music derivative once. I mean, I was eighteen, so it was pretty derivative, but no one fucking asked him.”</p><p>“And if you dislike this man so much, why would you want to accept his invitation?” Geralt already sounds tired, like he knows the answer is going to annoy him.</p><p>“Because I’m not even twenty-seven yet and I run a popular blog, sing songs that go viral all the time, have an amazing boyfriend, and have a book coming out.”</p><p>“You haven’t even finished the book yet. It’s not coming out any time soon.”</p><p>“He doesn’t need to know that, Geralt.” Jaskier looks up at the sky and asks the universe for patience. “And he’s still teaching the least popular history classes at Oxenfurt, releasing pretentious albums on vinyl that no one listens to, and trying to hide his receding hairline with increasingly unfortunate hats. I am going to rub it in his fucking face.”</p><p>Geralt snorts. “How about this? You manage to hit me with your sword, and I’ll come to Oxenfurt with you.”</p><p>“That’s not fair!” Geralt has been dragging Jaskier outside six mornings a week for the last four months to teach him how to use a sword. And while Jaskier has definitely improved, he’s only successfully struck Geralt once, and that was right after Geralt had tripped on their cat, Mousesack, and nearly lost his balance. Jaskier is at a point where he could potentially beat a human attacker in a fight, but Geralt has been doing this for a long, long time and is much stronger and faster than Jaskier could ever hope to be.</p><p>“There’s no fair in swordfighting. Hit me, and I’ll come to Oxenfurt. We can spend the entire weekend there.”</p><p>Jaskier doesn’t need any more encouragement. He pounces. He knows Geralt’s holding back as they spar If Geralt didn’t go easy on him, Jaskier would probably have broken a hand by now. But Jaskier likes to think that Geralt’s holding back less than he did four months ago, and Jaskier no longer feels like someone’s taken a meat mallet to his shoulders when they’re done. The first month of training, he could barely lift his arms over his head. However, he can feel himself tiring and the lure of breakfast and coffee is strong.</p><p>Jaskier raises his arms dramatically. “Fine, I surrender. I’ve been defeated. I’ll just go to Oxenfurt by myself and stay at a romantic bed and breakfast by myself and have dinner at all the best restaurants in town by myself. It will be a hardship.”</p><p>“Sounds like it.”</p><p>“Come here, you can at least make it up to me with a kiss.” Jaskier steps forward and captures Geralt’s mouth with his. Geralt leans into the kiss, dropping his sword to cup the back of Jaskier’s head in his hands.</p><p>Jaskier raises his sword and very gently jabs Geralt in the thigh with it. “Will you look at that? I got a hit.”</p><p>“Hm.” Jaskier feels Geralt’s lips curl into a smile against his. “Didn’t see that coming.”</p><p>“And yet, you allowed it to happen.”</p><p>“Doesn’t count as a hit.”</p><p>“I think it does. You’re the one always telling me not to get distracted during a fight. You got distracted, and you lost.” Jaskier taps him in the thigh again for good measure. “Now you have to come to Oxenfurt with me.”</p><p>“Guess I do,” Geralt says.</p><p>Jaskier leans his forehead against Geralt’s. “You were always going to come with me, weren’t you?”</p><p>“Of course. You want me to.”</p><p>They’ve been together for just over a year now, and Geralt still manages to constantly surprise Jaskier with how adorable he can be. Under the grumbliness and the growling, Geralt of Rivia, the White Wolf, is an absolute sweetheart. “You’ll like it, Geralt, I promise. There are some awesome bars. And some of my college friends still live in the area. You guys will get along great. I can show you all the sights. The campus is beautiful this time of year.”</p><p>“Sounds thrilling.”</p><p>“Oh, come on, let’s go have breakfast.” Jaskier throws an arm around Geralt’s shoulders. “I promise you, you won’t regret this.”</p><p>***</p><p>A month later, Geralt is sitting at some shitty little bar in Oxenfurt, sipping warm beer, listening to off-tune karaoke, and wondering what the hell he’s doing here.The entire bar smells of cheap beer, too many people spritzed with too much perfume, and nacho cheese. Jaskier leans against his side with his hand on Geralt’s thigh, laughing and chatting with the three women on the other side of the booth: his best friends from college, Essi, Shani, and Priscilla.</p><p>“They’ve really cleaned this place up.” Jaskier is looking around happily while two drunken college students scream the lyrics to a love song. “I remember when I used to worry that I’d get ecoli poisoning from just sitting at a booth.”</p><p>“That’s not how you get ecoli poisoning,” Shani says with an eye roll.</p><p>“Thank you, Dr. Shani.” Jaskier toasts her with his empty beer can. “I had no idea.”</p><p>The three women are what Geralt expected from old friends of Jaskier’s. They’re loud, sarcastic, prone to bursting into fits of song, and endlessly curious about who Geralt is and what he does. Geralt is trying not to let it annoy him, because Jaskier seems so fucking happy. He hasn’t stopped smiling all night. Geralt knows that Jaskier doesn’t have many friends in Posada, which has always puzzled him. Jaskier is friendly, charming, and outgoing. He should have too many friends to count. It's nice to see him surrounded by people who have known him for years, which almost makes up for the karaoke and shitty beer.</p><p>“So, Geralt.” Priscilla leans across the table, regarding Geralt with curious eyes. He thinks she’s the one Jaskier used to date off and on throughout college. “I bet you have so many interesting stories.”</p><p> “You can read all about them on Jaskier’s blog,” he says.</p><p>“I mean the ones from before you met Jaskier. You had centuries of life experience before he came along. How old are you, anyhow?”</p><p>“Gods, Pris.” Essi elbows her in the side, looking mortified. “You can’t just ask people how old they are.”</p><p>Geralt snorts. “About five hundred, give or take a couple of decades.”</p><p>“Shocking, I know.” Jaskier pats Geralt on the leg. “He doesn’t look a day over four hundred and fifty, does he?”</p><p>All three women laugh at that. Geralt squeezes Jaskier’s knee under the table in a way that promises retribution later, which only makes Jaskier’s grin widen.</p><p>“But you’ve probably seen so many things!” Priscilla is undeterred. She reminds Geralt a bit of Jaskier. He wonders if they were both like this before they started dating, or if they picked up each other’s traits. “I mean, centuries of history.”</p><p>Geralt shrugs. “Not really. I keep out of human affairs. Hard to keep up with current events when you’re living in the woods, hunting monsters. Being a witcher is boring. You fight monsters, you win or you die, you collect the coin. You get up and do it the next day if you’re lucky.” He glances at Jaskier. “At least, it was boring.”</p><p>Jaskier’s cheeks turn pink.</p><p>“So, how did you two meet?” Essi looks between them.</p><p>Jaskier launches into the story eagerly. He always makes the night Geralt saved Jaskier from the wyvern sound much more exciting than it actually was. In Jaskier’s memories, Geralt is always gallant and heroic and the battles with the monsters are always harrowing. He leaves out the part where Geralt essentially used Jaskier as bait.</p><p>“And then I was so inspired that I went home and wrote ‘Toss a Coin!’” Jaskier finishes with a flourish, looking ridiculously pleased with himself.</p><p>Geralt grunts. “That song is all lies.”</p><p>Jaskier draws himself up, offended. “‘Lies’ is a little harsh, my love.”</p><p>“But accurate.”</p><p>“Exaggeration is an artist’s prerogative.” A wicked grin spreads over Jaskier’s face. “Anyone up for some karaoke?”</p><p>Geralt scowls at him. “Do not sing that song.”</p><p>“I’d like to see you stop me.” Jaskier winks at him. “Come on, ladies, it will be like old times.”</p><p>All four of them head for the microphone, leaving Geralt sitting alone in the booth. He takes another sip of his beer and pretends not to be amused as Jaskier begins to belt out ‘Toss a Coin to Your Witcher,’ accompanied by Essi, Shani, and Priscilla. He can admit that they all have nice voices and they sound good together, even if the song is still shit. Several people at the bar begin to sing along and Jaskier glows with the energy of performing. Even when he’s performing to a couple dozen people in a dingy bar, he always acts like he’s singing to a sold out stadium. Geralt can’t stop watching him.</p><p>“You’re the witcher.” Geralt looks away from Jaskier to see a fair-haired man on the younger end of middle age, probably fortyish, standing by the booth. He’s annoyed that the man managed to sneak up on him; he was too busy watching the way Jaskier moves his hips when he sings.</p><p>“What gave it away?” Geralt asks flatly.</p><p>The man’s eyes flicker nervously to the medallion around Geralt’s neck. “I have a job for you.”</p><p>Jaskier has the whole day planned out tomorrow, from where they’re getting brunch in the morning to all the sights he’ll show Geralt before the lecture tomorrow night. Most of it sounds boring as all fuck to Geralt, but it will make Jaskier happy and that’s the important thing this weekend. “Sorry, I’m not here on business this weekend. Find someone else.”</p><p>“Please.” The man drops into the booth across from Geralt. “I own a farm about an hour from here. A griffin started killing our livestock last month. We’ve lost all our horses and cows. It attacked our dog last week and my oldest nearly lost his leg saving her. We’ve had to leave our home to get away from it. We’re staying with my wife’s parents in Oxenfurt.”</p><p>Geralt sighs. Once a griffin has marked its territory, anyone who dares venture near will be in danger. This man and his family won’t be able to safely return home until it’s taken care of. “How large is this griffin?”</p><p>***</p><p>After a rousing rendition of ‘Toss a Coin,” followed by three other songs, Jaskier’s voice is growing hoarse and he desperately needs to take a piss. He leaves Priscilla, Essi, and Shani with a promise that he’ll be back for another round or five and heads to the bathroom with a spring in his step. His musical aspirations have taken a backseat to his journalistic ones; besides the songs he writes for his blog, he rarely performs these days. This might just be karaoke in a dive bar full of drunk college kids, but it’s still a rush. Fuck, he misses this. Maybe he should start taking gigs again once in a while.</p><p>The men’s bathroom has not improved at all since his college days. He’s careful not to touch anything as he relieves himself. He’s washing his hands when the door opens and two men enter. One doesn’t look much older than college aged, while the other is probably in his mid-fifties. Jaskier nods politely to them in the mirror, then looks away. When he looks back up, he sees they’re still standing in front of the door and both of them are staring at him.</p><p>“If you’re looking for an autograph, I’m sorry, but I don’t have a pen on me,” Jaskier says brightly, though he can tell by the look in their eyes as they round on him that these men aren’t here for anything as innocent as an autograph.</p><p>“You know,” he adds. “Last time two burly men approached me in this bathroom, they were a lot more fun.”</p><p>He knows it’s the wrong thing to say as soon as the words leave his mouth. The younger man’s face twists into a snarl and he sinks his fist into Jaskier’s gut. Jaskier anticipates the punch and is able to brace for it, but it still knocks the wind right out of him. He sags back against the sink with a wheeze.</p><p>“We heard the song you were singing,” the older man says in a gruff voice. “You’re the one who writes all those songs about that mutant. The Butcher of Blaviken.”</p><p>This is the part where Jaskier should smile and try to talk his way out of this, or pretend that he has no idea what these men are talking about and this is just a case of mistaken identity. But Jaskier really, really hates it when people refer to Geralt as the Butcher of Blaviken. It’s a three hundred year old nickname—if people are going to be dicks to his boyfriend, they should at least be original about it.</p><p>Jaskier bares his teeth into a vicious smile. “You mean Geralt of Rivia, the witcher who has spent the last five hundred years killing manticores and drowners so jackholes like you live long enough to start bar fights? Yeah, I write songs about him because he's a fucking hero.”</p><p>The younger man seizes a handful of Jaskier’s shirt in his fist and Jaskier tenses for another blow. Instead, the man gets right in Jaskier’s face. “That thing is an abomination and you sing cute little songs about it.”</p><p>Jaskier’s hands curl into fists. <em>It.</em> Before he can unload a torrent of abuse on these ignorant fucks, he catches sight of a small tattoo under the younger man’s right ear. A flame. He turns to the second man and sees that he has the same tattoo. His stomach drops.</p><p>Jaskier remembers the Eternal Fire militia from college. They regularly stir shit up in Novigrad, vandalizing magic shops and beating up part-elves and dwarves. It doesn’t surprise him that their hatred of non-humans extends to witchers like Geralt. They used to hold demonstrations on Oxenfurt’s campus from time to time and Jaskier and his friends always gave them a wide berth. And while the majority of their activities seem to be limited to nasty comments online and holding sit-ins over non-human protection laws, the beatings, riots, and occasional murder are what’s on Jaskier’s mind right now. This could get extremely ugly for him, especially if either of them have concealed weapons on them, which seems likely.</p><p>“One man’s abomination is another man’s muse,” he says. “I don’t plan on singing any more songs about Geralt tonight, if that’s what you’re worried about. But he is waiting for me, so if you don’t mind…”</p><p>The younger man shoves Jaskier back against the sink. “And you’re fucking him too.”</p><p>Jaskier never writes about his romantic relationship with Geralt on his blog, because Geralt is worried it would make Jaskier a target. These men must have been watching Jaskier and Geralt sitting together, maybe even listened to their conversation. Fury surges through Jaskier and all his plans to deescalate this situation go out the window. “That’s none of your fucking business.”</p><p>“Makes you as bad as he is. Has fucking him turned you into a mutant?”</p><p>“I don’t know, does everyone you fuck become a giant dumbass? Or is the sample size not large enough to form a conclusion?”</p><p>From the look on the man’s face, Jaskier is certain he doesn’t entirely understand what Jaskier is talking about, but is still pretty sure it’s an insult. The man draws his fist back to hit Jaskier in the face, but Jaskier is done with smalltalk. When Geralt hasn’t been teaching him how to use a sword, he’s been teaching him how to throw a punch, and Jaskier is finally going to put all his training to good use. His fist connects with the younger man’s nose with a satisfying crunch. The man yells and reels backwards, staring at Jaskier in shock, like he can’t believe Jaskier just hit him. Jaskier braces himself as both men lunge at him.</p><p>Jaskier has certainly gotten better at fighting in the past few months and he can hold his own. By the end of their scuffle, the younger man has a bloody nose and a black eye and the older one is missing one of his front teeth. But there are two of them and only one of Jaskier, plus they’re both bigger than him and probably more practiced at bar fights than Jaskier could ever hope to be. So it isn’t entirely surprising when Jaskier ends up with the older man pinning his arms behind his back while the younger man’s fist connects with his jaw.</p><p>Jaskier tastes blood. “Geralt is ten times the man either of you can ever hope to be. He fights wyverns while you walk around with your stupid little neck tattoos and beat up singers in dingy bathrooms.”</p><p>That earns him a knee in his balls. Jaskier doubles over, gasping. Only the older man’s grasp on his arms keeps him upright.</p><p>“That thing doesn’t deserve to have songs written about him,” the older man hisses in his ear while the younger one punches Jaskier in the stomach again. “It should crawl away to the mountains and die, like the rest of its kind.”</p><p>And that’s enough of that. Jaskier throws his head back, connecting with his captor’s nose, just as the bathroom door flies open and Geralt himself stands in the doorway. Geralt doesn’t stop to assess the situation; Jaskier is sure he could hear what was going on from outside the bathroom. He goes for the younger man first. The kid swings at Geralt, but it’s like trying to hit a brick wall. Geralt seizes his head and slams it into the mirror. The mirror shatters and the kid slumps to the ground, unconscious.</p><p>The older man pushes Jaskier away and draws a wicked hunting knife. But instead of aiming at Geralt, he turns on Jaskier, the softer target. It’s the worst mistake he’ll ever make. Jaskier barely has time to panic before Geralt makes a sound that’s more beast than human and barrels into the man. Geralt’s first punch dislocates the man’s jaw. The second makes him drop the knife. The third brings him to his knees, barely conscious. When Geralt draws back his arm for a fourth punch, Jaskier grabs his arm. Jaskier isn’t nearly strong enough to hold back an angry witcher, but Geralt stops and turns to look at Jaskier with eyes filled with fury</p><p>“Are you hurt?” he demands. “I smell blood.”</p><p>“I bit my tongue,” Jaskier says. “But I’m fine. Just some bumps and bruises. Nothing compared to what’s coming.”</p><p>“What’s coming?” Geralt frowns and looks around, as if expecting to find more assailants hiding in the urinals.</p><p>Jaskier nods towards the mirror. “Don’t you know breaking mirrors is bad luck, Geralt?”</p><p>He lets out a peel of hysterical laughter. Geralt is not amused.</p><p>***</p><p>The worst part for Jaskier isn’t the swollen jaw or the bruises on his stomach. It isn’t the fact that his first time seeing his college friends in almost two years got cut short. It isn’t the (in his opinion, clearly unwarranted) lifetime ban from what used to be his favorite bar. It isn’t even the fact that he got beat up and nearly stabbed by two Eternal Fire pricks. It’s the defeated slump to Geralt’s shoulders as he rubs bruise tincture on Jaskier’s stomach and the pinched look around his eyes. Jaskier knows what Geralt looks like while self-flagellating and there is definitely some self-flagellation going on.</p><p>Jaskier is sprawled across the bed in their room at the cozy little bed and breakfast where they’re staying, watching Geralt’s hands gently massage the tincture onto his skin. It’s pleasantly cool and tingly. “Well, that wasn’t how I expected tonight to go,” Jaskier says, trying to keep his voice light. He doesnt want Geralt to see how shaken he is. It’s far from his first violent encounter, but this one left an oily feeling under his skin, like he needs to scrub himself raw to get rid of those men’s venomous words.</p><p>Geralt makes a low, unhappy sound when he moves to the bruise on Jaskier’s jaw. “I should have fucking beat them into the ground.”</p><p>“And then you would have felt terrible afterwards. Plus, it wouldn’t have done much for the reputation of witchers.” Jaskier reaches up to cup Geralt’s face in his hand. “You didn’t do anything wrong tonight, my love. You had no way of knowing that me going to take a piss would turn dangerous.”</p><p>“Should have known you could find danger anywhere.”</p><p>“It’s a skill.”</p><p>Normally, that would at least get a smile out of Geralt, but he’s apparently too determined to brood. “If people want to hit me, they should just fucking hit me. They shouldn’t come after you.”</p><p>“You know that’s never going to happen, because most people aren’t stupid enough to try to punch a witcher.”</p><p>“Trying to punch you is stupider. It makes me angrier.”</p><p>Smiling hurts, but Jaskier can’t help himself. “Well, they don’t know that. Plus, I have it on good authority that I have a very punchable face. People just can’t resist.”</p><p>When Geralt doesn’t say anything, Jaskier sighs and sits up to loop his arms around his boyfriend’s shoulders. “Hey, it was just two drunk assholes in a bar. I’ve survived worse.”</p><p>Geralt curls himself protectively around Jaskier at that, like he’s trying to shield Jaskier from the memories of the worse things he’s survived. “They tried to hurt you because of me.”</p><p>Jaskier nestles his face against Geralt’s neck. “No, they tried to hurt me because they’re pathetic jackasses who got so enraged by a two minute song that they had to stab someone.” He doesn’t bring up the men’s anger over his relationship with Geralt. The last thing he needs is Geralt going down the “being with me is too dangerous” rabbit hole again. The last time that happened, they didn’t talk for a month and Jaskier nearly got killed by a doppler.</p><p>“Look on the bright side!” He holds up his hand to show Geralt his bruised knuckles. “I held my own! You would have been proud of me. That one guy’s nose is never going to sit straight on his face ever again and the other one better have a good dentist. It’s too bad bringing swords into public places is no longer socially acceptable, or they would have been fucked.”</p><p>Geralt presses his lips to the bruises. “They probably wouldn’t have hit you so much if you hadn’t fought back.”</p><p>“No, they would have.” Jaskier shudders. “They were spoiling for a fight, no matter what I did or said. I did try to deescalate first.”</p><p>“I doubt that.”</p><p>“I really did! You know me, charming as all get out.”</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Geralt says.</p><p>“What do you have to be sorry for, Geralt? For existing? I’m pretty happy that you exist, to be honest. For being song-worthy? You being song-worthy has made my whole career. For being in love with me? Never apologize for that.”</p><p>“For not realizing something was wrong earlier. I was distracted.”</p><p>“Too stunned by my marvelous karaoke performance?” Jaskier bats his eyelashes and is gratified by the small smile that curls Geralt’s lips.</p><p>“No, a man wanted me to take care of a griffin problem at his farm. It’s been killing his livestock, nearly tore his kid's leg off, and drove him and his family off their farm.”</p><p>“Will you look at that, ‘Toss a Coin’ brings you yet another contract. You may hate it, but that song has made you more money in the last year and a half than you probably made in the decade prior.”</p><p>Geralt grunts. “He offered to pay me double if I took care of it tomorrow. They’re staying with his wife’s parents in Oxenfurt. Guess it’s not going well.”</p><p>“Tomorrow?” Jaskier winces at the whine that creeps into his voice. He had plans for tomorrow. They were going to go to brunch with Essi and her husband and then Jaskier was going to show Geralt all the best sights in Oxenfurt. Then they’d grab a romantic dinner at the sweet little outdoor cafe near campus before the lecture.</p><p>“I told him I couldn’t do it tomorrow. We’ll stop on the way back to Posada.”</p><p>“What’s double?”</p><p>“A thousand crowns.”</p><p>Jaskier whistles. That’s a decent haul for something as commonplace as a griffin. He feels the tension in Geralt’s shoulders. This is a man who needs to stab something. “How about this? We go to brunch tomorrow as planned, and then you go take care of your griffin. Griffins are easy, right? You should be back in plenty of time for the lecture. We can sight see on Sunday morning before we leave.”</p><p>Geralt frowns. “I don’t want to leave you.”</p><p>“And I don’t want to risk coming with you. If you get held up, I could be late for the lecture. It’s just tacky to be late to your own party.” Geralt is wearing his serious face, so Jaskier sighs. “I’ll be fine, Geralt.”</p><p>“Those two men could come back. They could bring friends. I can’t leave you alone.”</p><p>“What if I promise not to leave the room while you’re gone?” Jaskier asks. “I’ll stay in here, door locked, until you come back. I have some website maintenance I need to get done and I’ll need to practice my presentation for tomorrow, so I can keep busy.”</p><p>Geralt cocks an eyebrow at him. “You want me to go? I thought you had plans for tomorrow.”</p><p>“I did, but I think you’ll enjoy killing a griffin more than you’ll enjoy walking around campus and going to an art museum.” Jaskier doesn’t add that he knows Geralt is feeling helpless and angry right now and saving a family’s farm is the perfect antidote for that. Geralt will come back from the griffin hunt and maybe be able to sit through Jaskier’s lecture without being a nervous ball of energy. Then they’ll come back to the bed and breakfast, have some mind-blowing sex, and have a lovely day on Sunday before they return to Posada.</p><p>Geralt hesitates.</p><p>“A thousand crowns isn’t something to sneeze at, Geralt,” Jaskier says. “I promise, I’ll be okay.”</p><p>Geralt nods slowly. “You brought your knives?”</p><p>“Of course.”</p><p>“Don’t open the door to anyone.”</p><p>“I won't.” Jaskier presses a gentle kiss to his mouth. “Just be sure to remember all the details of your fight so I can write an article about it. No three word descriptions. I want details.”</p><p>Geralt snorts. “Griffins don’t make for good stories. They’re easy.”</p><p>“And that’s where you’re wrong, my love.” Jaskier relaxes into Geralt. “You’re going to vanquish the mighty beast. That always makes for a great story.”</p><p>***</p><p>Geralt used to be content driving in complete silence. Sometimes, he was on the road for days on end with nothing but the sound of Roach’s engine and his own thoughts as company. But he’s gotten too used to having Jaskier in the passenger seat, usually curled up or with his feet propped on the dashboard, always chattering and singing along to the radio. Geralt makes it twenty minutes into his drive to the farm before he turns on the radio to fill the silence. If Jaskier ever learns about this, he’ll never hear the end of it.</p><p>Back at the bed and breakfast, he almost changed his mind about leaving Jaskier in Oxenfurt. As Geralt prepared to leave, Jaskier sat on the bed, his legs pulled up to his chest and his laptop perched precariously on his knees, his head bobbing along to the music blasting from his headphones. The bruise on his face stood out sharply in the morning light and Geralt felt the overwhelming urge to either crawl back into bed and stay there with his boyfriend all day or go back to the bar and track down the men who had laid hands on Jaskier.</p><p>But Jaskier was right: a thousand crowns is nothing to sneeze at. Roach needs new tires and they really should replace Jaskier’s entire damn car one of these days. It breaks down at least once a month. So Geralt dropped one last kiss on Jaskier’s mouth, promised to be back in time for the lecture, and left, making sure that the door was closed and locked behind him. He hasn’t even thought about turning around and heading back for Oxenfurt more than a couple of times.</p><p>When he gets to the farm, he finds it empty and quiet. He parks Roach behind the barn and climbs out of the car to look around. It’s not quite as remote as griffins typically favor for their territory; there’s a busy road and a housing complex nearby. He wonders if this one got driven out of its territory by construction—it wouldn’t be the first time. Geralt walks around the yellow farmhouse and the barn, keeping his eye on the trees. Ideally, the griffin will come to him so he can get this over with and get back to Oxenfurt.</p><p>He sends Jaskier a quick text. <em>Made it to the farm.</em></p><p>The response is instantaneous. He has no idea how Jaskier texts so quickly. <em>Remember to take pics. Be safe. Love you.</em></p><p>Geralt smiles and pockets his phone, then takes a deep breath and looks around. The smile falls off his face. He doesn’t smell any animals. Even if the griffin killed all the horses and cows right away when it first attacked a month ago, he would still be able to smell traces of them. Farm animals are pungent, especially their manure. He walks over to the pasture. The grass is green and overgrown and the earth beneath it shows no signs of having been torn up by hooves. This house hasn’t been an active farm in a long time.</p><p>Geralt draws his sword and backs up until his back is flush against the side of the house. He could have taken a wrong turn and ended up at the wrong house, but he’s been alive too long to ever assume such an innocent explanation. Maybe the man who hired him made the problem sound more urgent than it is in order to get Geralt here quicker. If that’s the case, Geralt’s going to charge him more than a thousand crowns out of sheer annoyance. Or this could be a trap. Wouldn’t be the first time someone has used a fake contract to try and kill Geralt. They always seem to be surprised to learn that witchers are much harder to kill than unmutated humans.</p><p>A horrible thought occurs to Geralt. What if this isn’t a trap for him? What if this was just an attempt to get him out of Oxenfurt? To get to Jaskier?</p><p>He sprints towards Roach, reaching for his phone to text Jaskier, and his muscles seize up. His legs and arms lock in place, motionless. He can’t even flex his fingers.</p><p>Fuck.</p><p>He hears the rushing noise of a portal opening up behind him, then footsteps. Two pairs. He tries to turn his head, but his neck is as paralyzed as the rest of him.</p><p>“I expected more from the Butcher of Blaviken,” a woman says, sounding almost bored. “No matter. Take him.”</p><p>A hand, cool and a bit clammy, clamps down on the back of Geralt’s neck and an electric jolt of pain goes through him. If he could, he would go to his knees. As it is, his thoughts go fuzzy with shock. There’s another jolt, then another, and he feels the beginnings of unconsciousness creeping in. The world spins around him and goes dark, leaving Geralt with only one clear thought.</p><p>At least they weren’t after Jaskier.</p><p>***</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Content warnings: Jaskier gets attacked by two bigots who are angry about his relationship with Geralt. They take issue with the fact that Geralt is a witcher, not that Geralt and Jaskier are both men, but it could still be triggering for some, so proceed with caution. If you would like to skip it, stop reading at the paragraph that begins with "The men's bathroom has not improved" and skip until the next ***</p><p>There's also a brief mention of animal death and injury. No animals were actually harmed, though. It's all lies.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Of Fire and Frenemies</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Unable to get anyone to take his suspicions that something terrible has happened to Geralt seriously, Jaskier turns to the last person he wants to call.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you for all the lovely comments and kudos on the first chapter! I'm continuously touched by how many of you enjoy this series.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jaskier isn’t overly worried when Geralt isn’t back in time for the lecture, just disappointed. He knows how hunts go. Even the most mundane job can get complicated by unexpected variables: a second creature, an innocent bystander at the wrong place at the wrong time, some jackass with a gun who wants to be the one to bag the monster. Still, griffins are one of the more commonplace creatures remaining on the Continent, so Jaskier knows that Geralt has this handled. He texts Geralt on his way out the door with directions to the lecture, sure that Geralt will at least be back in time to catch the end of it. They can always grab a late dinner afterwards.</p><p>The lecture goes off without a hitch. Dr. Valdo Marx sits in the front row, wearing a hideous red velvet fedora, and looks like he just got squirted in the face with basilisk venom. Jaskier tells the story of how he started working with Geralt and how they’ve updated Geralt’s methods of hunting monsters to adapt to modern times. There are some sniffles when Jaskier talks about the wraith hunt that made Geralt realize he needed to improve his image, lest people keep hesitating to call witchers out of fear and suffer the consequences. All his jokes land beautifully. There’s a scintillating discussion during the question and answer section about the ethics of killing versus capturing and relocating various endangered creatures.</p><p>By the time Jaskier is done, he’s filled with the glow of a successful performance. He finds Priscilla, Shani, and Essi in the third row. The seat they saved for Geralt between Priscilla and Essi is empty. Frowning, Jaskier scans the spectators lining the back wall, but there’s no hint of broad, black-clad shoulders or white hair. Geralt isn’t here.</p><p>“That was brilliant.” Priscilla pulls him into a hug. “You should teach full-time, Jask. Seriously. You would be great at it.”</p><p>“I’m already balancing enough careers, but thanks.” Jaskier is still looking around the flatteringly crowded lecture hall, trying to see if Geralt managed to find a seat.</p><p>Priscilla follows his gaze. “I didn’t see him come in. Maybe he’s waiting back at the bed and breakfast for you?”</p><p>“Maybe.” Jaskier forces his expression into a confident smile. His mild nervousness is edging towards true worry, but his friends don’t need to know that.</p><p>He declines their invitation to go grab drinks, cognizant of his promise that he’ll stay far from any potential trouble while Geralt is gone. He finds their room at the bed and breakfast empty and sends Geralt another text. <em>Back in the room. Everything ok? Starting to worry.</em></p><p>There’s no reply, which Jaskier tells himself not to worry about. Geralt often doesn’t answer his phone during hunts.</p><p>When Geralt isn’t back a couple of hours later, Jaskier calls him. It rings for a while before going to voicemail. A sick, acidic feeling has settled in Jaskier’s stomach.</p><p>When Geralt isn’t back by midnight, Jaskier calls him again. The call goes straight to voicemail. “I’m really starting to freak out here, love. Please take a couple of seconds to call me and let me know you’re okay.” He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “Please be okay. I love you so much.”</p><p>When Geralt isn’t back by dawn, Jaskier finally lets himself panic.</p><p>***</p><p>When Geralt regains consciousness, he keeps his eyes closed and remains perfectly still, trying to get a read of the room. Through his eyelids, he can make out the harsh glow of fluorescent lights. The room smells strongly of antiseptic, so strong that he can’t make out any other scents under the lemon and bleach. There’s the low hum of a fan, muffling the sound of at least two human heartbeats nearby. Both heartbeats are steady; neither human is distressed or exerting themselves. Shoes squeak as one of them shuffles. Linoleum floors, Geralt guesses.</p><p>With his assessment of his surroundings complete, Geralt turns his attention to his own body. His limbs no longer have that heavy, frozen feeling they did at the farm. He’s lying on what feels like a mattress and he’s been stripped of his weapons, his medallion, his clothing, and his boots. He’s wearing a light cotton shift that almost feels like a hospital gown. He would think he was back in a hospital, if not for the cuffs on his wrists. They don’t feel particularly substantial, but he’s guessing they’re spelled. He can feel the chaos in the air.</p><p>He hears heels clicking on the floor and a third heartbeat join the previous two. Remembering the woman’s voice from the farm, Geralt stays still. A door opens and the sound of heels and all three heartbeats grow louder. The woman approaches him. He can smell her perfume, mild and expensive, and hair product. There’s the sound of fingernails tapping against metal. Geralt doesn’t move.</p><p>“I know you’re awake, Butcher,” she says. “Let’s not waste any more time. You’ve been unconscious for nearly twenty-four hours.”</p><p>“Whose fault is that?” Geralt opens his eyes and finds a woman staring down at him. He can tell she’s a sorceress as soon as he looks at her; only sorceresses possess that kind of flawless beauty. When she sees that he’s awake, her lips curl into a cool smile.</p><p>“My colleague’s,” she says. “He was overly ambitious about subduing you, I’m afraid.”</p><p>“Where the fuck am I?” Geralt is cuffed to what looks like a hospital bed in a windowless room. There’s a door on the other side of the room, with two nervous-looking guards posted in front of it, and a mirror that is most likely two-way glass.</p><p>“In the City of the Golden Towers, of course,” the sorceress says. “We won’t have time to show you the sights, I’m afraid. The city is lovely this time of year.”</p><p>“Not much to see in Nilfgaard, from what I remember.”</p><p>“Says the man who’s chosen Posada as his permanent residence.”</p><p>“Fair enough.” Geralt tests the cuffs around his wrists. They don’t budge. “Fringilla, I presume.”</p><p>“You presume correctly, Butcher. Or do you prefer Geralt?”</p><p>“I prefer you fuck off.”</p><p>The cuffs around his wrists become scorchingly hot. Geralt doesn’t flinch, just meets her eyes with an unimpressed expression.</p><p>“I see why you and Yennefer of Vengerberg spent so much time in each other’s company,” Fringilla says. “Similar dispositions.”</p><p>“Yennefer would disagree.” Geralt can smell his skin burning, but he forces his face into impassivity. “Why am I in the capital city of Nilfgaard, being held captive by the emperor’s court mage? If you wanted to hire me, you could have sent an email.”</p><p>She doesn’t waste his time by protesting that he’s not a captive, which he appreciates. “You’re here because you have some information the emperor is interested in.”</p><p>“Again, an email would have sufficed.” Geralt doesn’t bother asking what information she’s looking for. There’s only one reason the Nilfgaardian emperor’s court mage would come for Geralt. Two reasons, really. “If you burn my hands off, I’ll have an easier time getting out of this bed.”</p><p>She doesn’t acknowledge that statement, but the heat of the cuffs diminishes instantly. “You were acquainted with Stregobor, weren’t you?”</p><p>“Unfortunately.”</p><p>“His death was such a loss for the magical community.” She doesn’t even try to sound sincere. “But I heard interesting things about his demise.”</p><p>“His tower came down on him, didn’t it?”</p><p>“But the body mysteriously disappeared, along with those of his apprentices. And witnesses said a terrible scream was heard from the tower right before it came down. It shattered windows and made passerbys’ ears bleed.”</p><p>“Hm. Sounds like a spell gone wrong.”</p><p>“You were seen outside the tower.”</p><p>“Must have been another witcher.”</p><p>“Must have been.” She looks unamused. “I’m curious about that scream, especially after I ran into Stregobor’s sole surviving apprentice. The boy told me that Stregobor was obsessed with tracking down the last descendents of the Riannon line and he found them. And one of them, a young girl, was the one whose scream brought down the tower.”</p><p>Geralt remembers Ciri with her head thrown back, eyes blank as she screamed like she would never stop. “The Riannons all died in the sacking of Old Cintra. Weren’t you there, Fringilla, overseeing the slaughter?”</p><p>“Not all of their bodies were found,” Fringilla says.  “If there’s a Riannon descendant alive today, it’s very important to the emperor that she be located. Anyone who gave us information would be rewarded, of course.”</p><p>“Shame I don’t have any information, then.”</p><p> “If you don’t want to tell me what I want to know, I could find someone else. Like him.” Fringilla holds out a cell phone. It’s Geralt’s and the background is a selfie Jaskier took of himself. It’s clearly not supposed to be a flattering selfie; Jaskier’s face is all scrunched up and his eyes are comically huge. He would probably be mortified if he realized it was Geralt’s background, but it always makes Geralt smile.</p><p>Geralt schools his face into impassivity, even if the sight of Jaskier’s smiling eyes makes something ache inside of him. “You don’t have him.”</p><p>“Not yet. That could easily change. He’s so worried about you. He’s been calling all night.” Fringilla withdraws the phone and plays a voicemail.</p><p>It’s Jaskier’s voice, tense with worry. <em>“I’m really starting to freak out here, love. Please take a couple of seconds to call me and let me know you’re okay.”</em> A pause. <em> “Please be okay. I love you so much.”</em></p><p>Fringilla watches Geralt’s face carefully. “Poor boy. He sounds scared to death, doesn’t he? I didn’t think witchers could fall in love, but the two of you seem so fond of each other.”</p><p>Geralt says nothing. He wants to punch something. Jaskier has been alone all night. Anything could have happened to him. If the Eternal Fire came back for him…</p><p>But the woman in front of him is more dangerous than the Eternal Fire could ever hope to be. Geralt meets her eyes levelly. “Are you going to interrogate me, or are you just going to ask about my love life?”</p><p>She cocks her head to the side. “I don’t need to ask about your love life, Butcher. I know all about it. I know you favor the right side of the bed. Probably because you’re right handed and you sleep with your swords next to the bed. Your lover sleeps on the left side of the bed, but he normally ends up on top of you during the night. You two spar every morning at seven, except for Saturdays. You always go on a run afterwards for about forty-five minutes, leaving him all alone. At first, I thought about taking him. How many fingers do you think I would have to break before he talked? My guess is four.”</p><p>Geralt can’t break out of his cuffs, but he can still move his hands. He looks her right in the eye and casts Igni. It’s a pointless act of rebellion; it won’t help him get free. But it’s satisfying to watch Fringilla let out an undignified little shriek and leap backwards as the front of her dress catches fire. She douses the flames instantly, but the gray silk is ruined. Geralt allows himself a tiny smirk, knowing the expression will infuriate her.</p><p>“If you’ve been watching us, you know that no one touches him and walks away,” he says. “What do you think happened to Stregobor?”</p><p>Fringilla is breathing heavily. Geralt watches as she struggles to compose herself. “I would tell you that you’re going to pay for that, Butcher, but you already knew that.”</p><p>Geralt knows the electric shock is coming. It doesn’t make it any less unpleasant.</p><p>***</p><p>“Name of missing person?” The dour-faced police officer sitting across from Jaskier says in a monotone.</p><p>“Geralt of Rivia.” Jaskier’s leg can’t stop bouncing and his hands shake from a mixture of exhaustion and barely suppressed panic. He’s tried calling Triss Merigold three times this morning, and it’s gone to voicemail every time. The Oxenfurt Police Department is his plan B, and not a great plan B at that.</p><p>“Surname?”</p><p>“Of. Rivia.”</p><p>“Is that one word?”</p><p>“No, like the region of Lyria,” Jaskier says through gritted teeth. “He’s of there. Though not actually. It’s a long story.”</p><p>“Date of birth?”</p><p>“No clue. He’s about five hundred years old.” At the police officer’s raised eyebrow, Jaskier adds, “Like I said, he’s a witcher. They didn’t really care about birthdays at Kaer Morhen, apparently.”</p><p>“And how long has he been missing?”</p><p>“Since yesterday. He went to fight a griffin and never came back.”</p><p>“Gotta wait forty-eight hours to file a missing person’s report.”</p><p>“Unless there’s reason to believe there’s immediate danger,” Jaskier snaps. “He went after a griffin. I’d say that’s some immediate danger.”</p><p>The officer takes a long slurp of coffee. “Isn’t that what witchers do?”</p><p>“Yes, but he was supposed to be back yesterday afternoon. He would call me if he could to tell me he got held up. Something is obviously wrong.” Jaskier is doing his best not to imagine Geralt lying in the woods somewhere, grievously wounded and waiting for Jaskier to come to his aid. He’s especially trying not to imagine a worse scenario. "Can't you just send out a couple of officers to check on him? And maybe an ambulance? He's probably injured."</p><p>The officer ignores the request. “And who are you?”</p><p>“His boyfriend, Julian Alfred Pankratz.” Jaskier stresses the last name. He hates pulling out that particular card, but there’s a building named after his great-great grandfather on campus and if it means getting help for Geralt, Jaskier will do what he has to do.</p><p>The officer doesn’t react to the name. “Where was this griffin?”</p><p>“I don’t know, some farm about an hour outside Oxenfurt. He didn’t leave me an address. But someone has to have reported a griffin attack. A kid got hurt.”</p><p>The officer is quiet for a long moment, clicking around on his computer. “No reports of a griffin attack anywhere in Redania in the last six months,” he says after a minute.</p><p>Jaskier goes cold all over. “Are you sure?”</p><p>The officer grunts in response. His grunts are significantly less charming than Geralt’s.</p><p>Picturing Geralt injured or killed by a griffin was bad enough, but if Geralt was lured to the farm under false pretenses, that opens up numerous new and terrifying possibilities. Jaskier’s fists clench in his lap. “We had an encounter with two members of the Eternal Fire on Friday night. They seemed to object to Geralt’s existence.”</p><p>The officer’s eyes flicker to the bruise on Jaskier’s face. “And you didn’t report it?”</p><p>“No.” Jaskier doesn’t feel it prudent to mention that in his experience, Oxenfurt’s police depart is useless and this encounter is doing nothing to bolster his confidence.</p><p>“The Eternal Fire hasn’t been more than a nuisance in Oxenfurt,” the officer says. “It’s just a half dozen loudmouths. This isn’t Novigrad.”</p><p>Jaskier wonders if the non-humans in Oxenfurt would agree. “Well, the other night, they were a lot more than a nuisance. If they got to Geralt—”</p><p>The officer snorts. “What’s a few men against a witcher?”</p><p>“Witchers are strong, but they’re not bulletproof,” Jaskier says. “Look, Geralt wouldn’t just disappear for a day without telling me. And he never would have left me alone overnight after what happened with the Eternal Fire. He didn’t want to leave me at all.”</p><p>The man leans back in his chair. “Son, you want some advice?”</p><p>“Not particularly.”</p><p>“Breakups can be tough. Got my heart broken a couple of times when I was your age. It can be hard to accept when things end.”</p><p>“Wait, you think that Geralt left me?” Jaskier’s voice achieves a pitch that causes several other officers to look in their direction.</p><p>“It happens all the time.”</p><p>“If Geralt wanted to break up with me, he would just break up with me. He wouldn’t abandon me without a car in Oxenfurt. I told you, he didn’t even want to leave me for a day.”</p><p>“You can never be sure what someone like that’s thinking,” the officer says. “It’s not like he’s human.”</p><p>“He has more humanity than most so-called humans,” Jaskier says coldly.</p><p>The officer smiles with the air of someone imparting valuable life advice on a foolish young person. “Do yourself a favor, son, and find a nice human. Someone who can actually treat you right.”</p><p>“I don’t need a nice human. I have Geralt. Or, I had Geralt, until someone <em>kidnapped him.</em>”</p><p>“I’m sure wherever he is, he’s fine. But we’ll look into it.” The officer’s tone makes it clear that they won’t actually be looking into it.</p><p>Jaskier has a feeling no amount of arguing with this man will make him take Geralt’s disappearance seriously and he has nothing else to say that won’t get him arrested for threats against an officer of the law. Without so much as a thanks, Jaskier stalks out of the police station. It’s a beautiful day and downtown Oxenfurt is filled to the brim with students and tourists enjoying the weather. The feeling of the sun warming the back of Jaskier’s neck makes him think of Geralt locked away in some windowless dungeon and he shudders.</p><p>With no car to get out of Oxenfurt, no idea where this farm with the alleged griffin attack is located, and no support from the police department, Jaskier is stuck. He could keep calling Triss and hope that she eventually picks up. Or he could go back to the bar where they encountered the Eternal Fire assholes and see if anyone remembers anything about them or the man who approached Geralt, but he’ll most likely just get thrown out on his ass. Plus, that sounds like the kind of plan that would give Geralt an aneurysm.</p><p>But Jaskier can’t just sit around and wait, not when anything could be happening to Geralt right now. He whips out his phone and calls the only person he can think of—Yennefer of Vengerberg.</p><p>***</p><p>There’s a reason that Yennefer only leaves Aretuza when absolutely necessary. It may be a drafty, nearly abandoned castle in the middle of nowhere, but at least the only people she has to deal with there are Tissaia, Sabrina, and Triss. And while each of them comes with their own set of challenges and annoyances (particularly Triss lately) at least none of them are slavering teenage boys trying to get her to sell them a love potion.</p><p>She’s just spent a week at an old aristocratic family’s estate in southern Kaedwen, helping undo a very old, very nasty family curse cast by a vengeful mage generations back. It’s the kind of job that only serves to remind Yennefer why she left Aedirn’s court all those years ago. She doesn’t like most people and she especially dislikes people puffed up on the meager power given to them by a dwindling family fortune and a title that hasn’t mattered for centuries. It was almost tempting to leave the curse intact, but petty spite doesn’t pay the bills.</p><p>But now, when her work is done and she only wants to portal back to Aretuza in peace, the family’s college aged son has cornered her in the foyer and is demanding a love spell to convince his ex to get back together with him.</p><p>“Like I said,” Yennefer tells him, feeling the last scraps of her patience disintegrating in the wind. “Love spells aren’t a thing.”</p><p>If Triss were here, she would take the time to explain that love can’t be bottled, because attraction is so individualized and what works for one person will turn the next person off and then there are the issues of consent and he wouldn’t want to coerce an unwilling woman, now would he? But Yennefer isn’t Triss and she doesn’t give a shit if this little pissant learns a moral lesson. She just wants this conversation to be over so she can go home and have some wine. </p><p>“Oh, come on,” the kid whines. “You have to have something. Aren’t you a witch?”</p><p>In her purse, Yennefer’s phone begins to ring. She ignores it. “I have nothing for you. But I have been looking for a virgin sacrifice for the next full moon, if you’d like to keep trying my patience.”</p><p>Luckily, she’s already deposited his father’s check. The boy’s face goes chalk white, then red and mottled. He mutters something and scurries away. If he had a tail, it would be tucked between his legs. Yennefer goes to open a portal, but then her phone starts ringing again. Annoyed, she snatches it out of her purse. “What?”</p><p>“Is Triss there?” The voice is young, male, and irritating. “I’ve been trying to reach her.”</p><p>“Who is this?” Yennefer asks, though she has a good idea who it is.</p><p>“Jaskier.”</p><p>Yennefer rolls her eyes. “Triss is away on business. She won’t have her phone with her. I’ll tell her you called, though.”</p><p>She starts to hang up, but Jaskier calls, “Wait!”</p><p>“Jaskier, I’m in the middle of a contract,” Yennefer says, which isn’t strictly true, but she has no intention of chatting with Jaskier. That’s just a headache waiting to happen. He and Triss may have become the best of friends since the mess in Vizima, but Yennefer has no interest in repeating the other sorceress’s mistakes. Triss always had to see the best in everyone, even ridiculous, chatterbox musicians in too-tight pants.</p><p>“It’s Geralt.” There’s so much fear and heartbreak in those two words that Yennefer immediately feels her annoyance drain away, replaced by icy dread.</p><p>She takes a deep breath, steadying herself so none of her own fear will be audible in her voice. “What happened?”</p><p>“He went on a griffin hunt and he never came back. And now it looks like there never was a griffin. I think someone took him.”</p><p>“Where are you?”</p><p>“Oxenfurt.”</p><p>Yennefer ends the call, opens a portal, pictures the musician’s cherubic face, and steps through.</p><p>“Did she seriously hang up on—oh my fucking gods!” Jaskier yelps and falls backwards, tripping over a duffel bag and landing unceremoniously on a four-poster bed. “Shit, Yennefer, say it with me, ‘I’m about to portal into your hotel room, Jaskier. Don’t freak out. Definitely don’t piss yourself a little.’”</p><p>Yennefer knows he uses humor as a defense mechanism, but she has no time for it right now. Or ever, really. “Tell me everything that happened. Leave nothing out.”</p><p>She immediately regrets that because in true Jaskier fashion, he starts with receiving the invitation to lecture at Oxenfurt a month before and takes a detour through their dinner with his friends before finally getting to the part where Geralt was apparently approached by a man about a griffin problem at the same time that Jaskier was getting the shit kicked out of him by two Eternal Fire cultists.</p><p>“And neither of you thought they could be related?” she demands.</p><p>“Geralt can normally tell when someone’s up to something,” Jaskier says. “And he would have noticed if the guy had an Eternal Fire tattoo.”</p><p>“What happened yesterday when he went to find the griffin?”</p><p>“I don’t know. He texted me to tell me he got to the farm, and I never heard from him after that. And when I went to the police this morning, they told me that no griffins have been reported in Redania for the last six months.”</p><p>Yennefer closes her eyes. “You went to the police before you called me?”</p><p>“I thought he’d just been hurt during a griffin hunt! Normally, when there’s a missing person, you go to the police.”</p><p>“You’ve known Geralt for over a year and a half, Jaskier. When have the police ever helped him?”</p><p>At least the little idiot has the sense to look ashamed of himself. “I called Triss before I went to the police, but she didn’t pick up.”</p><p>Yennefer towers over him, which she can only do because he’s sitting down and she’s in heels. That doesn’t make it any less satisfying. “From now on, when something’s wrong with Geralt, you call me. Understood?”</p><p>He blinks. “But—”</p><p>“No. I was cleaning up that man’s messes while your great-great-great grandfather was still shitting his diapers. When Geralt is in trouble, I’m the one who takes care of it. Triss is who you call if he’s injured. I’m the one you call when someone needs to die.”</p><p>“Okay,” Jaskier says in a small voice.</p><p>“Luckily for you, I put a spell on his medallion so I could track it about two hundred years ago.”</p><p>“Does he know about it?”</p><p>“What do you think?”</p><p>Jaskier’s mouth works. “We’re going to have a talk about boundaries when this is all over.”</p><p>“We’re going to have a talk about you two being chucklefucks who fall for obvious traps when this is all over.” Yennefer holds out a hand. “Are you coming?”</p><p>He raises an eyebrow. “You’re going to let me come with you? I thought I’d have to argue a little first.”</p><p>“I may need someone to feed to a griffin to distract it. Best come prepared.”</p><p>“Oh very nice, Yennefer. I’ll have you know that I’m far too stringy to—” Jaskier emits a satisfying shriek as Yennefer opens a portal and yanks him through.</p><p>***</p><p>It’s a good thing Jaskier skipped breakfast. As it is, he ends up on his knees, dry heaving into a bush. Yennefer stands behind him, hands on her hips, and he can feel the impatience radiating off her.</p><p>“Are you done?” she snaps.</p><p>He looks up at her with watering eyes. “You could have warned me.”</p><p>“You’ve gone through portals before.”</p><p>“Triss is a lot more gentle about it.”</p><p>Yennefer gives him a flat look. “Get up.”</p><p>Jaskier groans and climbs to his feet shakily. They’re standing in the driveway of a yellow farmhouse, surrounded by picturesque green pastures. There isn’t any blood or a body, or any sign that something horrible happened here. There isn’t any sign of Geralt at all. </p><p>“You think this is the place?” he asks Yennefer.</p><p>“This is where the tracking spell brought us.”</p><p>“Are you sure you did it right?”</p><p>“How do you feel about being turned into a squirrel?”</p><p>“Not great, but thanks for checking first.”</p><p>“Someone’s home.” Yennefer nods to the minivan parked in front of the house. The trunk is open. “I take it Geralt didn’t trade Roach in?”</p><p>“Are you joking? I think he’d trade me in first.”</p><p>“Wouldn’t be much of a sacrifice.”</p><p>Jaskier is about to retort when the front door opens and an older woman steps onto the front porch. When she sees Jaskier and Yennefer, she frowns.</p><p>“Can I help you?” she asks in a tone that makes it clear she has no interest in actually helping them.</p><p>Before Yennefer has a chance to be herself, Jaskier steps forward with a smile. “Hello, ma’am. We’re here about your griffin problem.”</p><p>“What griffin problem?” the woman asks at the same time that Yennefer grumbles behind him, “Oh, you idiot.” Jaskier shoots Yennefer a look over his shoulder. He has a plan; there’s really no need for her to be looking at him like he just took a crap in the middle of her kitchen table.</p><p>“We received a report of a griffin attacking livestock in this area,” he tells the woman.</p><p>“And who are you?”</p><p>“Julian Kratz.” He strides towards her, holding out his hand to shake. “Professional creature exterminator. And this is my assistant, Jennifer.”</p><p>Behind him, Yennefer makes a noise like an angry cat. He ignores her.</p><p>The woman looks him up and down, taking in his lilac button-up, his skinny jeans, and his rainbow tennis shoes. Not the look of a professional creature exterminator, but it will have to do. “A griffin, you said? We don’t have any livestock here. This hasn’t been an active farm in twenty years. And my husband and I spent the winter in Toussaint. We just got back an hour ago. We weren’t the ones who called you.”</p><p>“So you haven’t heard anything at all about a griffin?”</p><p>“No. Could have been the Kublin farm up the road, but I think I would have heard if they were having a problem like that.” The woman’s eyes flicker to Yennefer, who is looming behind Jaskier, looking vaguely terrifying.</p><p>Jaskier widens his smile, hoping that dialing up the charm will take away from the aura of barely suppressed homicidal tendencies Yennefer is radiating. “Would you mind terribly if my assistant took a look around? Just in case there was a griffin nesting nearby while you and your husband were away?”</p><p>“Sure.” The woman doesn’t look like she loves this idea, but also like she’s afraid to say no to Yennefer.</p><p>Jaskier turns his smile on Yennefer. “Jenny, would you be a dear and look around for any signs of our runaway griffin?”</p><p>Yennefer flashes him an approximation of a sweet smile. He tries not to shudder. “Certainly, <em>Julian.</em>”</p><p>She’s going to make him pay later. As long as they get Geralt back, he doesn’t care. Turning back to the woman, he says, “Such a lovely girl. Third best assistant I ever had.”</p><p>There’s the phantom sensation of someone punching his thigh, perilously close to some sensitive bits. He winces. Yennefer has disappeared around the side of the house, but she can clearly still hear him. Good to know.</p><p>“Have you heard anything about someone hiring a witcher?” Jaskier asks. “I’d heard rumors that someone had called Geralt of Rivia.”</p><p>“A witcher?” The woman utters the word like it’s the filthiest of insults. “Gods, no. No one around here would hire one of those things. There are children who live in the area.”</p><p>“Hence our concerns about the griffin.” Jaskier can feel his smile wilting.</p><p>“We wouldn’t let a witcher come near our families. Especially not the Butcher of Blaviken. If we had a griffin problem, we would take care of it ourselves, or call an honest human like you.” The woman puffs out her chest, like sheer idiocy is something to be proud of.</p><p>Jaskier suddenly feels very tired. “Well, it seems like my assistant and I may have been led astray. Prank calls are a hazard in this line of business. Does anyone know that you and your husband were away in Touissant?”</p><p>“Plenty of people. We don’t try to hide it.” The woman pats the doorframe with a smug smile. “We have the best protection spells money can buy on this house. Anyone who tried to rob us would have a bad time.”</p><p>“Very wise of you.” Jaskier bobs his head. “Well, thank you for your time, ma’am. I’m just going to go collect Jennifer. Have a great day.”</p><p>He hurries around the side of the house and nearly runs into Yennefer.</p><p>“Look, I’m sorry about the assistant thing,” he says before she can turn him into something small and slimy. “It was just the first thing that popped into my head.”</p><p>She doesn’t say anything and he notices that her face has gone ashen. Silently, she holds out her hand. Jaskier looks down and sees Geralt’s silver wolf medallion resting in her palm.</p><p>“Oh, gods.” He reaches out and takes it from her with shaking hands. The metal is cold, which is all wrong. It should be warm from resting against Geralt’s chest.</p><p>“That’s not all, Jaskier,” Yennefer says softly and for the first time, Jaskier notices the smell of gasoline and burning rubber in the air. “Behind the barn.”</p><p>“He’s not…” Jaskier can’t finish the thought. It’s too horrible.</p><p>She shakes her head. “There’s no body. No blood either.”</p><p>He nods, heart in his throat, and follows her. The first things he notices are Geralt’s armor and swords discarded on the ground in a heap. There’s no way that Geralt took them off himself. He would never throw his gear aside so carelessly. But then, parked behind the barn, is Roach.</p><p>Geralt has had Roach for over thirty years. She’s an ugly, boxy brown sedan with an AC that barely works and a finicky radio, but Geralt loves this car. He named her after the horse that he adored centuries ago. He religiously takes care of her paint job and her leather seats. And despite how ridiculous Jaskier finds his boyfriend’s obsession with the car, he’s come to love her in his own way. He can’t count the number of hours he’s spent in the passenger seat, teasing Geralt and singing along to the radio while they’re on their way to their latest adventure, with Geralt’s hand resting on his knee.</p><p>But all that’s left of Roach is a burnt out husk, charred black and still smoking slightly.</p><p>***</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Sorry...</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Of Ambushes and (Lack of) Answers</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Yennefer leaves Jaskier unattended. It goes as expected.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Sorry this is being posted so late in the day! I'm officially back at work full time this week, so new chapters won't be posted until probably between 7 and 8 PM EST from now on. So for those of you in later time zones, that means you might not see new chapters until you wake up on Saturday mornings. I'm sorry for the inconvenience!</p><p>Also, thank you to everyone who read and commented on Chapter 2. I normally try to reply to every comment, but this was a weird, hectic week and I ended up not having the energy. Know that I saw them and appreciated them, as always, but just had to be a little quieter about my appreciation this week.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Geralt couldn’t have been aware of what was happening when his car was torched, Yennefer realizes. If he were conscious, the people who dared touch Roach wouldn't have walked away alive. Geralt put as much love and care into tending to this car as he used to put into caring for his horses. She goes to examine the wreckage more closely, ascertaining that it was burned by good old gasoline and fire, not a spell. There’s no burnt corpse in the car, which is a mercy. If Geralt has been killed, it wasn’t here.</p><p>Jaskier’s face has gone ashen. “Oh, gods. Poor Roach.”</p><p>Yennefer is not a naturally comforting person, and she has no intention of starting now. “It’s just a car.”</p><p>“Geralt’s car. He’s going to be devastated.”</p><p>Yennefer remembers how Geralt always used to grieve when it was time to retire one of his horses. Even when it was common practice to kill horses that grew too old to be ridden, he could never do it. He would leave them at Kaer Morhen to be tended to by Vesemir or find a nice farm where they could live out their final days. He would always mourn for weeks after saying goodbye to a horse. She imagines he’ll probably mourn for the car just as much.</p><p>“But he wasn’t in it,” she says firmly. “That’s what matters. If they didn’t kill him here, they want him for something. That means he’s most likely still alive.”</p><p>“But what would they want from him?” Jaskier always talks too fast, like he’s hurrying to get all the words out before he runs out of breath, but panic makes his speech even more rapid-fire.</p><p>“Lots of things. This isn’t the first time something like this has happened. There’s always someone with a bone to pick with witchers or someone who thinks they can force him to kill an inconvenient lover or relative for them. It rarely works out well for them.” She notices something scratched into the dirt next to the burnt car and she crouches down to examine it closer. It’s been partially wiped away, but some of the lines and curves of the symbol are still visible.</p><p>“What is that?” Jaskier vibrates with anxiety as he hovers over her.</p><p>“A sigil of some kind.”</p><p>“What does it do?”</p><p>Yennefer wonders how Geralt puts up with all these questions. “If I knew, I would have told you, but it’s been scratched out.”</p><p>“Guess.”</p><p>Yennefer grits her teeth. “If there was a line here, it could have been an immobilization sigil. He would have been frozen in place as soon as he stepped on it. He wouldn’t have even been able to blink.”</p><p>Jaskier makes a small, pained noise. “So they made him a sitting duck.”</p><p>Angrily, Yennefer wipes away the rest of the sigil and rises to her feet. “Whoever took him either is a mage or has one working for them.”</p><p>“So it can’t be the Eternal Fire, right? They don’t like mages any more than they like witchers.”</p><p>“Not necessarily,” she says. “People who don’t like witchers still hire Geralt when they need one. Necessity makes hypocrites of us all. Come on, let’s go back to Oxenfurt to get your things. Then back to Posada.”</p><p>Jaskier looks at Roach with big, sad eyes. “We can’t just leave her here.”</p><p>“It’s a car.”</p><p>“She deserves better than this. A proper burial. If we leave her here, she’ll get towed away to a junkyard.”</p><p>“Almost like she’s a car that no one can drive anymore.” Gods, Yennefer just referred to the car as ‘she.’ She’s too old for this. </p><p>“I can’t do that to Geralt.” Jaskier’s eyes are overly bright.</p><p>Yennefer closes her eyes. If only there were a griffin she could feed him to. “Fine.” She lifts her hand and the car dissolves into ash, floating away on the wind. “It’s not a proper burial, but a cremation will have to do. Now, are you coming with me, or am I leaving you here to deal with a nonexistent griffin problem, Julian Kratz, professional creature exterminator?”</p><p>Jaskier’s lips curl into a hint of his normal smile. “Thanks, Jennifer.”</p><p>“Don’t mention it.” She sneers at him and opens a portal in front of her, wincing a bit at the effort. Portaling always saps her magic, especially when she has a passenger. “Seriously, never mention it again.”</p><p>Honestly, the things she does for Geralt.</p><p>***</p><p>It feels wrong to return to Posada without Geralt, carrying both their luggage in his arms. He steps through the portal, only feeling a little queasy this time, and drops their bags. Looking around, he takes in the little signs of Geralt’s presence all over the townhouse and an ache blooms in his chest. Before they left for Oxenfurt on Friday morning, Geralt made batches of several of his potions and he didn’t finish cleaning up. There’s a cutting board and a knife on the counter. Staring at it, Jaskier remembers the first time he and Geralt made dinner together here and Jaskier was horrified to learn that Geralt used the same cutting board for chopping vegetables and potion ingredients.</p><p>
  <em>“Geralt, I don’t want to dice onions on the same cutting board where you were slicing up drowner eyes earlier!”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“You don’t slice up drowner eyes. You peel them and—”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Oh my gods, my point stands!”</em>
</p><p>They ended up getting takeout that night. The next time Jaskier came over, Geralt had a new set of cutting boards.</p><p>There’s a pair of Geralt’s shoes sitting neatly by the front door. </p><p>
  <em>“I think you might have more shoes than I do, Geralt. Which is impressive, given that you only own two pairs of pants and five shirts.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Got to be prepared for all terrains.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“And what terrain are these steel toed boots for?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“If I have to put my foot up someone’s ass.”</em>
</p><p>The whetstone Geralt uses to sharpen his swords sits on the coffee table.</p><p>
  <em>“The swords are sharp, love. They’ve been sharp for the last hour. Come to bed.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“That basilisk almost got you.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“But you were there and I’m okay. More than okay, actually. I’m up for a life-affirming fuck, if you’d just put down the damn swords.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Take this seriously, Jaskier. You nearly died.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I take life-affirming fucks very seriously, thank you. The basilisk is dead. You can’t make it any more dead, no matter how much you sharpen those blades. Now just come to bed.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Hm. Fine.”</em>
</p><p>Their wooden practice swords lean against the wall by the back door.</p><p>
  <em>“I think we can cut practice down to five days a week, Geralt. You’re killing me here.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“This isn’t going to kill you. What could kill you is being unprepared in a fight. I’m not always going to be there.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I find that very hard to believe.”</em>
</p><p>“Jaskier.” Yennefer’s voice is sharp with impatience.</p><p>He’d forgotten the sorceress was even here. He turns to look at Yennefer. “What?”</p><p>“If you’re going to pass out, sit down first. I don’t have the energy to heal a head wound.”</p><p>Jaskier shakes his head. He would love to indulge in a breakdown right now, but there isn’t time. And he knows if he starts panicking, he won’t stop. “What happens next? We go to Novigrad and—”</p><p>“We’re not going anywhere. I’m going back to Aretuza. You’re staying here.”</p><p>Jaskier stares at her incredulously. “You’re just leaving?”</p><p>“I don’t have the supplies to do a proper tracking spell with me. They're at home.”</p><p>“Then I’ll come.” Jaskier can’t just sit here while Geralt is out there, maybe hurt. Maybe dead.</p><p>The look Yennefer gives him is ice cold. “I’m not Geralt, Jaskier. I don’t need an amusing sidekick.”</p><p>Jaskier draws himself up. Being offended by Yennefer’s words is easier than being terrified for Geralt. “Sidekick?”</p><p>“If I’m going to find him, I can’t waste anymore time portaling you all over the Continent or answering all your questions. Do you want Geralt back?”</p><p>“Of course, but—”</p><p>“Then let me handle this.”</p><p>“Handle this?” Jaskier’s voice goes up several octaves. “Geralt is everything to me, and you expect me to just sit around and do nothing?”</p><p>“If he’s everything to you, then yes. All you’re going to do is get in my way and we don’t have time for that.”</p><p>It takes a lot to leave Jaskier speechless, but he can’t think of a single thing to say before Yennefer portals away, leaving him alone.</p><p>***</p><p>This time, Geralt is woken up by an electric shock coursing through his body. His muscles seize up in pain as his eyes snap open. Instinctively, he tries to sit up, but he can’t. The cuffs are gone, but his legs, torso, arms, and hands have been strapped to the bed with thick leather bindings. He can’t do much more than wiggle his fingers.</p><p>“Can’t have you casting Igni again, can we?” Fringilla stands next to his bed, peering down at him. “That was my favorite dress, Butcher.”</p><p>“Hm.” Geralt is reminded of Jaskier, and how every outfit that gets covered in monster blood or torn by a creature’s claws instantly becomes his favorite as he mourns them. He doesn’t want to be reminded of Jaskier right now. Jaskier is warmth and light, and there’s none of that here.</p><p>“I tried looking through your mind while you slept,” she says. “You have a strong mind. I couldn’t access most of your memories.”</p><p>“You wouldn’t be the first to try.”</p><p>“Stregobor’s mind magic was nothing compared to mine.”</p><p>“Yet yours still isn’t good enough.”</p><p>Her lips thin in displeasure. “I realize that you won’t be amenable to telling me what you know, so why don’t I start by telling you what I know?”</p><p>Geralt says nothing.</p><p>“When your musician moved to Posada, he rented an apartment next to that of a woman named Calanthe Ryan and her twelve year old granddaughter, Cirilla. He became quite close to them, didn’t he? The odd thing about Calanthe Ryan is that I couldn’t find any birth records of her. Nor any school records. It was like she just appeared at the age of twenty-five with a young baby. On paper, she lived a perfectly ordinary life. At every law firm she worked at, she never climbed up in the ranks. She did good work, but not extraordinary. She never worked any notable cases. And her daughter, Pavetta, was always a good student, but not great. Never worked any notable jobs. No, the most interesting thing about Pavetta Ryan is how she and her husband died.”</p><p>The sorceress pauses, like she expects Geralt to say something. He takes a small measure of satisfaction in disappointing her.</p><p>“Pavetta and Duny were killed in a boating accident in the middle of the night in the dead of winter,” Fringilla says. “The boat didn’t just sink, it broke into pieces. The only survivor was their ten year old daughter, Cirilla. But you knew that already. You also knew that after her parents’ death, Cirilla went to live with her grandmother in Posada. She lived there for five years until Calanthe and Cirilla were killed when their car drove off a bridge. Your boyfriend must have been devastated.”</p><p>At the memory of the look on Jaskier’s face when he realized Calanthe and Ciri were going to leave Posada, something inside Geralt twists.</p><p>“The odd thing is that no bodies were ever found.” Fringilla’s lips curl into a small smile. “And I know what you’re going to say, witcher. The Posada River has a water spirit problem. They rarely bother living humans, but corpses are fair game. Makes it quite a popular spot for criminals to get rid of inconvenient bodies, doesn’t it? And for people to fake their death, of course. Do you want to know what I think?”</p><p>Geralt just looks at her impassively.</p><p>“I think Calanthe and Cirilla were the last descendants of the Riannon line. I think that somehow, that idiot Stregobor figured it out. I think he took one or both of him to that tower and they screamed and brought the tower down around his ears. And then they faked their deaths and left Posada. And so I’m going to ask nicely once. Where are the Riannons?”</p><p>“Dead.”</p><p>“Don’t insult my intelligence, witcher.”</p><p>“Wouldn’t dream of it.”</p><p>“You know, I took you instead of your musician because I thought of the two of you, you were more likely to be entrusted with life or death information. Maybe I should rethink things.”</p><p>Geralt’s hands itch for his swords.</p><p>“You’re going to talk eventually,” Frigilla says. “Everybody talks.”</p><p>She’s right. Luckily, Geralt doesn’t have the information she’s looking for. As far as he knows, the Aretuza sorceresses are the only ones who know Ciri and Calanthe’s whereabouts. But he can’t tell her that. If she realizes that Geralt doesn’t know where Ciri and Calanthe are, she’ll find someone else to interrogate. He won’t let Yennefer or Triss, or even Sabrina or Tissaia, end up strapped to this bed.</p><p>“I’ve been in this position for a long time, Geralt,” Fringilla tells him in a low, almost conspiratorial voice. “I’m very good at what I do. And you make it easy. Anyone with eyes can see your weak spot.”</p><p>The sorceress doesn’t list all the horrible things she could do to Jaskier; she doesn’t need to. Geralt remembers the way Jaskier screamed while Stregobor tortured him. He hears that scream in his nightmares. The thought of watching Jaskier suffer like that again puts an acidic taste in the back of Geralt’s throat.</p><p>“I know it’s hard to torture information out of witchers,” she continues. “After the Trial of the Grasses, you think you can handle anything. You’ve suffered the worst pain imaginable, so what’s having your fingernails torn out or your skin branded with hot pokers? But you should know, Butcher, that there are worse things than the Trial of the Grasses. You should hope I don’t have to demonstrate them for you.”</p><p>***</p><p>There’s no point in trying to sleep that night. Since he and Geralt started sharing a bed on a regular basis, Jaskier never sleeps well without him. When they first started dating and Jaskier still had his apartment on the other side of Posada, Jaskier would try to stay at his own place a few times a week, worried about appearing clingy. More than once, he ended up getting into his car in the middle of the night and driving across town to crawl into bed next to Geralt. Geralt was always awake and waiting for him. Geralt would never say as much, but Jaskier knows the witcher sleeps better when Jaskier is next to him.</p><p>Since they moved in together that fall, the only times Jaskier and Geralt have slept apart were when Geralt was in the hospital after the striga fight and the three days Geralt was in Velen hunting a fiend. (Fiends are one of the monsters that Jaskier isn’t allowed anywhere near, no exceptions, much to his chagrin.) Jaskier barely slept a wink either time and when he did, his sleep was plagued by nightmares. He knows it will be no different tonight, so he doesn’t even try.</p><p>Jaskier sits in bed, stroking the top of Mousesack’s fluffy head with his laptop resting on his thighs. He’s wearing one of Geralt’s undershirts. It’s faded with old age, more gray than black, but it smells like Geralt— leather and chamomile. Geralt’s wolf medallion hangs around his neck, the metal warmed by his skin. The weight of it is comforting.</p><p>The pit of queasiness in his stomach has nothing to do with the fact that he hasn’t eaten since the granola bar he forced down for breakfast and everything to do with the fact that he’s currently perusing the most hateful depths of the internet. He’s been keeping tabs on the Eternal Fire for a couple of months, ever since the comments on his blog took a decided turn for the disturbing. He’s always had the occasional troll, but nothing like this. These comments run the gamut from rude to downright terrifying.</p><p>As far as he can tell, it was a standard issue post about Geralt killing a katakan in Ebbing that drew the Eternal Fire’s ire. The job itself was straightforward— people died, Geralt showed up, Geralt killed the monster that was preying on innocents. But accompanying the article was a photo of Geralt crouching down, talking to the two young daughters of one of the victims. He was holding the little stuffed unicorn one of the girls tried to gift him as a thank you (Geralt handed the toy back to the girls’ mother as soon as the children were out of sight.)  His face held an unbearably gentle expression that caused Jaskier’s heart to melt into goo. But the Eternal Fire didn’t see a man comforting two little girls who just lost their father. They saw a mutant corrupting two innocent children with his very presence.</p><p>But even as the comments have increased in frequency and… intensity over the past two months or so, Jaskier never said a word to Geralt. He knew how that conversation would go. Best case scenario, Geralt would go off for a couple of days to brood about causing ugliness to be directed at Jaskier. Worst case, he would start refusing to let Jaskier write about him. If Geralt saw a couple of the more vicious comments, Jaskier had no doubt it would be the latter.</p><p>Now, he wonders if that omission got Geralt hurt or killed and the thought makes him want to puke. He never keeps things from Geralt. It’s nearly impossible to lie outright; Geralt can pick up on the slightest changes in Jaskier’s heartbeat. But Geralt never asked if awful bigots were plaguing the comment section of his blog and sending him nasty emails, so Jaskier never had to lie. And it’s not like any of the comments were threatening. At least, not explicitly threatening.</p><p>Fuck, Jaskier really should have told him.</p><p>But there’s no sense dwelling on his own guilt right now. He needs to do whatever he can to find Geralt, so he goes through every Eternal Fire-related website he can think of, no matter how much it makes him want to bleach his brain to get rid of the memory of some of the things he reads. After hours of this, his eyes burn and his hands are shaking, but he can’t stop until he finds something. Yennefer might think he’s useless, but he’s perfectly capable of helping save Geralt.</p><p>And then he finds it, a comment down the rabbit hole of online bile, deeper than Jaskier has ever gone before. It’s a picture of scenic, rolling hills and a pristine pasture with a caption that reads, <em>Beautiful day for a drive in the country :)</em> And there in the corner of the picture is a burning car. Roach. The user who posted it is anonymous and there’s no hint of Geralt or anyone else in the photo. Jaskier stares at it for a long time, pretending that the way his vision keeps blurring is just from tiredness.</p><p>Even if Jaskier had the tech know-how to track down the IP address of an anonymous commenter, there’s nothing else he could do. The police have proven to be no help and even if they did change their mind, the photo is purposefully staged for plausible deniability. <em>“We were just taking a photo of the view, officer. We didn’t even notice the burning car.”</em> Knowing he’ll put his fist through the screen if he doesn’t, Jaskier slams the laptop shut and shoves it aside.</p><p>It’s only then that he notices that Mousesack, who was curled up against his side, sound asleep, is sitting up, ears pricked. It might be the most alert Jaskier has ever seen the cat, who treats every moment spent awake as an inconvenience.</p><p>“What’s wrong, fluff butt?” Jaskier scratches the cat under the chin.</p><p>From downstairs, there’s a thud. Jaskier goes still.</p><p>“Geralt?” he whispers. Maybe Geralt escaped his captors or Yennefer came to his aid. If it was Geralt downstairs, he would hear his name as clearly as if Jaskier shouted it. He would also smell the spike of Jaskier’s fear and know to call out to reassure him. No one responds. He hears the creak of footsteps on the stairs.</p><p>Taking a deep breath, Jaskier stands up and reaches for the steel knife he keeps in his nightstand.</p><p>***</p><p>“No mage with any self-respect would work with the Eternal Fire.” Sabrina sounds offended by the very idea, standing with her arms crossed over her chest as she watches Yennefer work.</p><p>“That’s what everyone said about Nilfgaard, and we all know how that ended.” Yennefer presses the heels of her hands against her eyes. She’s tried three different kinds of tracking spells and they’ve picked up nothing about Geralt’s location. Between that and the portaling, Yennefer is utterly drained.</p><p>“Fringilla was always a loose cannon.” Sabrina shrugs. “Especially after you stole the Aedirn assignment.”</p><p>“Goodness, thank you for bringing that up. I love being reminded that rash decisions I made three hundred years ago may have altered the fabric of society.”</p><p>“It’s a legacy few people can aspire to.”</p><p>“Oh fuck off, Brina,” Yennefer says, but there’s no heat in it. She’s too tired for genuine annoyance.</p><p>“Are you certain the Eternal Fire is responsible?”</p><p>“I’m not certain of anything. But they made threats against Geralt and Jaskier on Friday night, and it seems like too much of a coincidence for them to not be involved. They must have recruited a mage to the cause, or hired one.”</p><p>Sabrina sniffs disdainfully. “Who would stoop that low?”</p><p>“We all worked for some unsavory characters during our days at court.”</p><p>“Yes, but not like this. Not a cult that wants to wipe out non-humans, including us, if they get the chance.”</p><p>“They’re more of a militia than a cult these days,” Yennefer says. “They’re more about the bloodlust, less about the religious fervor. Still have plenty of self-righteousness, though.”</p><p>“Charming.” Sabrina hesitates. “We could call Triss and Tissaia.”</p><p>“It’s too risky as long as they’re with Ciri and Calanthe. There’s a chance that whoever has Geralt is something much worse than the Eternal Fire.”</p><p>“Nilfgaard?”</p><p>“Could be. Or it could be any of the enemies Geralt has managed to accumulate over the last five hundred years. He does so like to be infuriating. Come help me with this tracking spell.”</p><p>“Yenna.” Sabrina’s voice gentles, which is how Yennefer knows she won’t like what her friend says next. “If three tracking spells haven’t worked, a fourth isn’t going to work either.”</p><p>“Whoever has him, their wards can’t be stronger than I am.”</p><p>“There are other reasons a tracking spell may not work.”</p><p>“Do not,” Yennefer growls.</p><p>Sabrina raises her hand in surrender. “I’m going to go get in touch with some people who might have heard something. Istredd, maybe. He used to work for Stregobor back in the day, didn’t he?”</p><p>“He won’t want anything to do with me.” Yennefer winces.</p><p>“And that’s why I’m going to go talk to him alone.” Sabrina brushes her hand over Yennefer’s shoulder, which is Sabrina’s version of a bear hug. “Don’t tire yourself out. You already look wrecked.”</p><p>“Oh, choke on a bag of—”</p><p>Sabrina portals away, leaving Yennefer entirely alone in the ancient castle. It’s a state of affairs that’s more common than not these days, with at least one of the Aretuza sorceresses with Ciri and Calanthe at all times.</p><p>Yennefer’s phone chimes and she groans. She knows who the text is from before she even glances at the screen.</p><p>
  <em>Someone’s breaking into my house.</em>
</p><p>***</p><p>As soon as the bedroom door flies open, Mousesack flees into the closet. Jaskier wishes he could follow the cat. The man standing in the doorway is tall, burly, and wearing a ski mask to obscure his features. Standing there, knife in hand, in just an undershirt and boxers, Jaskier feels ridiculous and terribly vulnerable. The last time someone attacked him in this bedroom, Geralt was just downstairs. Geralt saved him before Jaskier could receive anything worse than a bruised neck and a year’s worth of nightmares.</p><p>But Geralt’s not here. It’s just Jaskier and this knife, which seems woefully inadequate. When sparring with Geralt, if he makes a mistake he only gets a disapproving look or a cutting comment. If he makes a mistake here, he might end up dead. Gods, he hopes Yennefer got his text. This would be an awesome time to have a sorceress portal into his home unannounced.</p><p>“Don’t come any closer.” Jaskier strikes a defensive pose, trying to make his voice sound gruff and authoritative, like Geralt’s.</p><p>“Cute knife.” The man draws a gun from inside his jacket.</p><p>Jaskier’s blood runs cold. He can feel the memory of being pinned down with the barrel of a gun pressed against his heart dancing at the edge of his consciousness. “Cute gun. Don’t you think that might be overkill?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Nice talk. If I could offer a counterpoint?”</p><p>“Go ahead.”</p><p>Jaskier seizes the lamp off the nightstand and hurls it at the intruder. It smashes against the man’s head and he falls to the ground. Jaskier vaults over the moaning man and rushes down the stairs. There’s a second intruder coming up the stairs. This one isn’t holding a gun, but he’s even bigger than the first man. Jaskier will have to rely on the fact that he has the upper ground. If Geralt were here, he would tell Jaskier that this is the best position he could be in during a fight. Jaskier isn’t reassured.</p><p>He charges at the man, slamming the entirety of his weight into him and driving his knife deep into the man’s shoulder. It shouldn’t be a killing blow; Jaskier isn’t ready for that yet. Still, it’s enough to make the man howl in pain as they crash down the stairs to the floor. Pinning the intruder underneath him, Jaskier tries to yank his knife out of the man’s shoulder, but it’s stuck fast. The man screams again and Jaskier thinks he may be sick. No, he’s not one for stabbing people. All stabbing will be left to Geralt from now on.</p><p>A hand fists in his hair and drags him to his feet, just as the barrel of a gun presses against his temple. Jaskier freezes.</p><p>“Nice trick with the lamp,” a voice growls in his ear. The accent is low and guttural. Jaskier can’t place it. “Don’t do it again.”</p><p>Jaskier raises his bloody hands in surrender. “My wallet and car keys are on the kitchen counter. You can have them. We don’t have many other valuables, but you can have all of them.”</p><p>“You think this is a robbery?”</p><p>Jaskier doesn’t really, but he was hoping. “There’s some wyvern venom in the fridge. It sells well as a weight-loss supplement, of all things.”</p><p>“Shut up. We were told to take you alive, if at all possible. Keep talking, and it won’t be possible.”</p><p>“If I have the choice, I would really prefer to be taken alive.”</p><p>“I thought I told you to shut up. Erik, get up.” Jaskier’s captor nudges the fallen man with the toe of his boot. When the second man doesn’t move, he swears. “You little shit. You killed him.”</p><p>“What? No. I didn’t stab him anywhere vital.” But Jaskier notices the enormous pool of blood around Erik’s torso and there’s a sick lurch in his stomach. “Oh, gods.”</p><p>“You little fucker.” The gun presses harder into Jaskier’s skull and he flinches. “I should shoot you for that.”</p><p>Jaskier’s heart is racing, from a mixture of fear for his own life and horror at having taken someone else’s. “It was an accident. I tried to miss his vital organs. I just forgot about arteries.”</p><p>“How the fuck do you forget about arteries?”</p><p>“I don’t know! I’m a blogger, not a doctor.” Jaskier lets out a hysterical laugh.</p><p>“You think this is funny?”</p><p>“No, not even a little bit. Please, I didn’t mean to.”</p><p>The intruder is quiet for a moment and Jaskier holds his breath, knowing full well that the other man is weighing the pros and cons of killing him. The cons must win out, because the man growls, “Walk. Try anything, and you die.”</p><p>Jaskier wants to ask to be allowed to put pants on, but he thinks that might be pushing it. Hands still raised in surrender, he walks around Erik’s motionless body and lets his attacker lead him towards the door. The gun never wavers from its spot pressed against his head. Slowly, Jaskier walks towards the nondescript sedan idling in the street, trying to look around for Yennefer without being too obvious. He sees no sign of black hair or violet eyes lurking in the shadows.</p><p>“Who do you work for?” he asks the man.</p><p>“Shut up.”</p><p>“I would really like to know why I’m being kidnapped.”</p><p>“You’ll find out soon enough.”</p><p>“Patience has never been a strong suit of mine.” Jaskier swallows. “The witcher you took, Geralt of Rivia. Is he alive?”</p><p>Pain explodes across the back of his head and Jaskier almost crumples, held up only by the hand fisting in the back of his shirt. The fucker pistol-whipped him.</p><p>“I told you to shut the f—” The man’s growl is cut off by a horrible crack. Jaskier looks up to see the man collapse to the lawn, his neck hanging at an impossible angle. There’s a squeal of tires as the sedan peels away from the curb. Jaskier kneels in the grass, staring at the dead man who had a gun to his head only seconds before.</p><p>Hands grab his shoulders and Jaskier yelps, flinching away.</p><p>“I left you alone for a few minutes, and you kill a man, get held at gunpoint, and nearly end up kidnapped?” Yennefer demands. "How?"</p><p>“It was eight hours. That’s a long time for me to be unattended.” Jaskier’s voice is shaking too hard to properly convey the cutting wit he was hoping for. Fuck, he killed somebody. He doesn’t know whether the fact that it was entirely unintentional makes it better or worse.</p><p>He pictures Geralt’s expression, incredulous and horrified. <em>“You forgot about arteries?”</em> He’s torn between the urges to laugh and cry.</p><p>“No neck tattoo,” Yennefer says and he realizes that she’s knelt down in front of him and removed the dead man’s mask. “He wasn’t Eternal Fire. I should have kept him alive to question him, but I couldn't risk it while he had a gun to your head.”</p><p>Jaskier rubs the back of his head, wincing at the knot he can feel forming there. “If not the Eternal Fire, then who else could have sent these guys?”</p><p>Suddenly, Yennefer looks exhausted. “Honestly? I have no idea.”</p><p>***</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Of Militias and Monsters</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Jaskier and Yennefer travel to Novigrad to infiltrate an Eternal Fire stronghold.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Yennefer watches as Jaskier kneels on the ground at the foot of the stairs, scrubbing the spotless tile floors until his hands are pink and raw-looking from the harsh cleaning agents. She vanished the would-be kidnapper’s corpse and the bloodstains, but Jaskier seems determined to wipe away every trace of what just happened.</p><p>“You’ve been at that for an hour,” she tells him. “The floor is clean. Probably cleaner than it’s ever been.”</p><p>He doesn’t reply.</p><p>She sighs. “This wasn’t your fault.”</p><p>“What part?”</p><p>“Any of it.” Fuck, Yennefer hates having to be comforting. Even Geralt is better at this than she is. “What do you think those men were going to do to you, Jaskier?”</p><p>“I’m trying very hard not to think about it.”</p><p>“Well, do think about it. They took Geralt, and then a day later, they came back for you? Why? Probably because he’s not giving them what they want, so they were going to use you as leverage. They would have hurt you, maybe even killed you. You were doing what you had to do to defend yourself. That bastard had to die.”</p><p>“His name was Erik.”</p><p>“Who cares?” Yennefer snaps, losing her patience. They don’t have time for his self-pity. “Everyone has a name. Maybe he was a lovely person with a spouse and two kids when he wasn’t kidnapping and torturing innocent people. More than likely, he was an asshole and everyone in his life is better off without him. He’s dead now and Geralt will be too if we don’t do something.”</p><p>“We need to go talk to the Eternal Fire,” Jaskier says.</p><p>“Those men—”</p><p>“Didn’t have neck tattoos. I know. But I found a picture of Roach burning on an Eternal Fire message board. They had something to do with it. Maybe they’re working with another group. Maybe the men who attacked me weren’t full-fledged members. I don’t know. But they have something to do with it.”</p><p>“You seem awfully certain of that.”</p><p>Jaskier throws down the rag he was using to scrub the floor and stalks upstairs. For a moment, Yennefer thinks he’s just stormed off in a fit of pique until he returns, carrying a laptop. He sets it down on the kitchen counter and gestures to it.</p><p>“These are just the screenshots of the worst of the comments,” he says flatly. “There’s about five hundred more where that came from.”</p><p>As Yennefer scrolls through the photos, her blood runs cold. She doesn’t like Jaskier. She’s certainly lobbed her fair share of venom at him, both to his face and behind his back. But this is something else. “Gods, Jaskier. How long has this been going on?”</p><p>“About two months.”</p><p>“Does Geralt know?”</p><p>His downcast gaze is answer enough.</p><p>“Why wouldn’t you tell him that an anti-magic militia has been threatening you online?”</p><p>“Because they haven’t actually been threatening me.”</p><p>“Are you joking?” Yennefer jabs her finger at the screen. “This one wants to know which orifice you want a broken beer bottle shoved into. He provides a list. Would you like me to read it?”</p><p>Jaskier shudders. “No, thanks. I remember vividly.”</p><p>“Why wouldn’t you tell Geralt?” she demands. “This is the kind of thing he should know about.”</p><p>“It just would have upset him.”</p><p>“Upset him? You were worried about upsetting him when there was an entire group of bigots gunning for the two of you? The Eternal Fire has killed people. They burned down a home with an entire elven family inside just last month. Eight elves dead, five of them children.”</p><p>“I know.”</p><p>“Then why—”</p><p>“I don’t know!” Jaskier snaps. “Maybe because he fights werewolves and bruxae and all kinds of monsters, so I thought I could handle a couple of assholes in the comments section by myself!” His face twists. “If he saw those, he would blame himself. Every time I get so much as a scratch on a hunt, he acts like he’s the one who hurt me. I didn’t want to add to that.”</p><p>“You didn’t want him to leave you out of some misguided protective instinct,” Yennefer says flatly.</p><p>Jaskier flinches. “Pretty much, yeah. Wouldn’t be the first time. You don’t need to tell me that I’ve been an idiot, Yennefer, or that I may have gotten Geralt hurt. Trust me, I know.”</p><p>The genuine anguish in his expression stills her tongue.</p><p>“There’s a bar in Novigrad that's known as an Eternal Fire stronghold,” Jaskier says. “I remember it from college. We were all warned away from going anywhere near it.”</p><p>Yennefer already doesn’t like where this conversation is going. “And?”</p><p>“And, that seems like a really good place to eavesdrop and see if anyone is bragging about kidnapping a witcher. That would be something they would want to tell all their friends about, right?”</p><p>Yennefer drums her fingers on the counter top and smirks. "This sounds stupid and dangerous.”</p><p>Jaskier returns her smirk with a shaky grin. “So right up my alley.”</p><p>***</p><p>The fluorescent light above Geralt has started to burn out, flickering and buzzing like a firefly trapped in a jar by a careless child. Geralt is practiced at being able to achieve a meditative state under any condition, but the incessant noise is starting to drill its way into his skull. He doesn’t know how long he’s been trying to meditate, slipping into a state of blank calm before being jerked out of it. He estimates that it’s been about two days since he was taken, though it’s hard to tell with the lack of windows. The occasional chatter from the guards outside his room had gotten sparser and drowsier, giving him the impression that it’s either late at night or early in the morning. Not that it matters. He has nowhere to be.</p><p>The sounds of brisk footsteps put him on alert. Four pairs, one irregular and interspersed with a dragging sound, like they’re being pulled along against their will.</p><p>“Let go of me, you fucking <em>fucks!</em>”</p><p>At the sound of the familiar voice, Geralt’s eyes snap open and he tries to sit up. The leather straps hold him firmly in place. The door opens and Fringilla saunters in, followed by two guards. Between them, they drag a hunched-over figure. The person is wearing a pair of blue plaid boxers, an overlarge black undershirt, and Geralt’s own wolf medallion. Geralt’s slow, steady heartbeat quickens as Jaskier looks up at him with terrified blue eyes.</p><p>“Geralt!” His voice is high and thin with panic as the two guards force him to his knees.</p><p>“You know what information I want, witcher,” Fringilla says. “And you’re going to give it to me, or this man dies.”</p><p>“No, please!” Jaskier’s voice cracks. “Geralt!”</p><p>Geralt looks at Jaskier. His hair is messy, like he was pulled from their bed. There’s a trickle of blood coming from his nose.</p><p>“He has no part in this.” He forces his voice to remain calm, when he wants to shout and thrash against his bonds. Showing panic will only be playing right into Fringilla’s hands.</p><p>Fringilla draws a knife and holds it against Jaskier’s pale throat. “That’s where you’re wrong. He’s yours, so he was always going to be part of this. Tell me where the last Riannons are and he doesn’t have to die.”</p><p>Jaskier lets out a ragged sob.</p><p>Geralt’s chest aches at the sound. “If you hurt him, it will be the last thing you ever do.”</p><p>“Geralt, just tell them what they want to know, please,” Jaskier says tearfully and that’s when Geralt notices that the other man doesn’t smell afraid. The sour scent of fear should be heavy in the air, but all Geralt smells is body odor and cheap cologne, not even the spicy, subtle scent of Jaskier’s aftershave. Jaskier’s heartbeat is slightly elevated, but not thundering with fear.</p><p>“Doppler or illusion?” he asks.</p><p>Fringilla cocks an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”</p><p>“He doesn’t smell like Jaskier. Isn’t afraid. And Jaskier wouldn’t ask me to betray Ciri and Calanthe.”</p><p>“What are you talking about?” Not-Jaskier shakes his head frantically. “Baby, I’m Jaskier. Please—”</p><p>“He also doesn’t call me baby.” Now isn’t the time to think about Jaskier’s voice going affectionately soft as he calls Geralt “love.”</p><p>Fringilla sighs. Then with one sharp motion, she slits the young man’s throat. The guards holding him let the body slide to the floor. Even though Geralt knows it’s not Jaskier bleeding and gasping on the floor, his gut still clenches at the sight of that familiar face twisted in anguish. It’s a mercy when Not-Jaskier goes still, staring up at the ceiling with eyes that are more gray than cornflower blue. The young man is dark-haired and roughly the same build as Jaskier, but his face is longer and his features sharper. The boxers, undershirt, and medallion are gone, replaced by black pants and a gray hoodie.</p><p>“That was unnecessary,” Geralt says flatly.</p><p>Fringilla nudges the dead man with her toe. “Unfortunately not. He was one of the three men we dispatched to your home to abduct Jaskier. When Yennefer of Vengerberg showed up, he fled in the getaway car and left his fellows to die. He failed his mission. He should have known the consequences.”</p><p>“Hm.” So Yennefer is with Jaskier. Relief floods Geralt. She’ll keep him safe and out of trouble. She may not like him, but she knows how important he is to Geralt. Hopefully this means that Jaskier is safely tucked away at Aretuza or some other safehouse where Fringilla won’t get to him.</p><p>“So much for Plan B.” But Fringilla doesn’t look surprised or particularly annoyed. She gestures one of the guards forward. He hands her a bottle of black liquid.</p><p>“I thought you’d been doing this for a long, long time and were very good at it.” Taunting her is perhaps unwise, but the smell of the young man’s blood is sharp and coppery in the air and he has no doubt that if it had been Jaskier kneeling there, she would have slit his throat just as easily. Geralt remembers the black undershirt and wolf medallion Not Jaskier was wearing, and wonders if Fringilla took that image of Jaskier from the dead man’s memories. The thought of Jaskier wearing Geralt’s things to comfort himself leaves Geralt feeling achingly lonely.</p><p>He will probably die here and never see Jaskier again.</p><p>“No need to worry, Geralt, I think Plan C will work quite well.” Fringilla strides towards him, uncorking the bottle. The scent of rot fills the air. It almost smells like Black Blood, but worse. “Open up.”</p><p>Geralt clenches his jaw, but feels his lips parting against his will. His mouth opens of its own volition and Fringilla tips the contents of the bottle down his throat. It tastes even worse than it smells and he tries to gag and spit, but his mouth and throat is paralyzed. Fringilla steps backwards, her task complete, and Geralt spits a mouthful of blackened saliva at her. She doesn’t even flinch.</p><p>“Could use some honey.” Geralt’s voice is hoarse.</p><p>“Oh, I don’t think honey would help,” she says calmly. “I did tell you that there were worse things than the Trial of the Grasses.”</p><p>And then the pain rips through Geralt and if she says anything else, he’s too busy screaming to hear it.</p><p>***</p><p>“I am not getting in that death trap.” Yennefer stands outside of Jaskier and Geralt’s house, arms crossed over her chest, wearing a look of profound disgust.</p><p>Jaskier looks between her and his car. “What are you talking about? It’s a perfectly fine car!” Sure, the check engine light has been going on for the last couple of months and he’s definitely due for an oil change and he occasionally smells something burning when he gets over seventy miles per hour, but he’s had this car since college and it hasn’t failed him yet. Well, besides that time it stalled on the freeway and the two times he’s needed to replace the engine. Minor blips in an otherwise illustrious life.</p><p>“It looks like it’s being held together by duct tape and cellophane.”</p><p>“That’s saran wrap and it’s just one window. It’s fine. You could portal us.”</p><p>Yennefer gives him a disgusted look. “I told you, I need my powers fully charged when we get to Novigrad. Portaling with a passenger takes too much out of me.”</p><p>“Great. Well, I can’t afford to rent a car, so unless you want to summon one, it’s this or nothing.” Jaskier tosses his duffel bag into the trunk, then grabs her rolling suitcase. “Do you want the first or second shift to drive?”</p><p>She sniffs. “I don’t drive.”</p><p>“Don’t or can’t?”</p><p>Silently, Yennefer slides into the passenger seat.</p><p>“You’re five hundred years old and you don’t know how to drive?” Jaskier demands. “What happens if you burn out so completely that you can’t portal? You’re just stuck?”</p><p>“I don’t let that happen,” she snaps. “Now, can we go? This car smells like feet.”</p><p>“It does not!” Jaskier clambers into the driver’s seat. “Okay, maybe a little.”</p><p>The drive to Novigrad is only a little further than his drive to Oxenfurt with Geralt the other day, but it feels like an eternity. Instead of being curled up in Roach’s passenger seat, laughing at Geralt’s reaction to the pop songs on the radio, he’s sitting in near-silence with Yennefer. The radio somehow makes the silence worse, so he turns it off an hour into the drive. Besides the occasional snarky comment about the rattle of his car’s engine, Yennefer has no interest in talking to him and Jaskier doesn’t know what to say to her.</p><p>It gives Jaskier far too much time to think: about the man he killed the night before, about Geralt, about what he and Yennefer are planning. He’s barely slept for the last two nights, he swears he can still smell blood under his fingernails, and he’s scared in a way he can never remember experiencing before. Only the weight of Geralt’s amulet around his neck keeps him centered. It reminds him of what he’s fighting for and what the cost will be if he lets himself fall apart.</p><p>When they get to their hotel in Novigrad, Jaskier would dearly like to sink into bed and take a nap. Or, sink into the couch in the sitting area of their suite, where he’s been relegated for the evening.</p><p>“You know, I’m a lot taller than you,” he tells Yennefer. “You would fit better on the couch than I will.”</p><p>Yennefer snorts. “You’ll survive.”</p><p>He groans and flops backwards. “Why are we sharing a room?”</p><p>“Because last time I let you out of my sight, you nearly got kidnapped.”</p><p>“Admit it, you just like my company.”</p><p>“I would never lie to you like that, Jaskier.”</p><p>He laughs dryly. “Well, you’re going to have to let me out of your sight tonight when I go to talk to the Eternal Fire.”</p><p>She pauses in the middle of unzipping her suitcase. “You’re joking.”</p><p>“Yennefer, don't take this the wrong way.”</p><p>"I'm already taking this the wrong way.”</p><p>“You pretty much scream ‘sorceress.’ I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but normal women don’t have purple eyes or wear floor-length black gowns on casual Monday afternoons. You will get shot the second we walk into that bar.”</p><p>“They can try.”</p><p>Jaskier looks up at the ceiling and asks the uncaring universe for patience. “I’ll tell you the same thing I’ve told Geralt a thousand times. You may be a badass, but that doesn’t make you invincible. Men with guns can still hurt you.”</p><p>“What about you?” she demands. “Killed one man, and now you think you can take on a bar full of murderous bigots by yourself?”</p><p>Jaskier tries not to flinch. He’s not sure if he succeeds. “This may come as a surprise to you, but most people like me. They find me easy to talk to. And my face doesn’t appear on my blog all that often. They probably won’t recognize me.”</p><p>“What about the two who cornered you the other night?”</p><p>“That was in Oxenfurt.”</p><p>“Oxenfurt is less than an hour from here. They could be local to Novigrad.”</p><p>It’s a good point, so Jaskier doesn’t have much to say, except a weak, “I can keep a low profile.”</p><p>“No, you can’t,” she says. “You’ll be recognized within five minutes and then I’ll need to save your ass. This isn’t the first time I’ve gone incognito, Jaskier. Give me an hour, and I won’t look like a sorceress.”</p><p>She vanishes into the bathroom before he can reply. To his surprise, he manages to nap on the couch and when he wakes up, he’s lying face down in a puddle of his own drool and Yennefer is standing over him, hands on her hips.</p><p>“I’m so glad you’re taking this seriously,” she snaps and Jaskier blearily looks up to see that Yennefer was apparently replaced by a whole new person while he was asleep. She’s wearing a strappy yellow crop top with a pair of jeans and sandals. Her hair is back in a low ponytail. Her normally heavy eyeliner has been replaced by a softer look. Her eyes are even brown. It’s like looking at a weird alternate dimension version of Yennefer and it creeps him out a bit.</p><p>“You look like a farmer’s daughter,” he tells her.</p><p>“I am a farmer’s daughter.” She immediately gets an expression on her face like she didn’t mean to say that. Jaskier desperately wants to pry, but that might actually get him killed. He never pictured Yennefer as having a family, or ever having done something so banal as being born, which is ridiculous. He knows she didn’t spring into existence as a terrifying sorceress.</p><p>Jaskier sits up, wiping the drool off his face. “This might actually work.”</p><p>“So glad you think so,” she says. “Because you’re staying in the car.”</p><p>“Wait, <em>what</em>?”</p><p>***</p><p>The Eternal Fire’s stronghold looks like a normal, if sleazy, bar with its dim lighting, sticky tables, and tired-looking waitresses. If it weren’t for the fact that almost all of the men, and a good deal of the women, sport the flame tattoo on the side of their neck, Yennefer would think she has the wrong place. It’s oddly crowded for a Monday, largely filled with groups of men crowded around pool tables and dartboards. She finds a seat at the bar and orders a beer. She can’t stand beer, but this seems like the type of place where ordering wine would make her stand out. She sips at her drink and fiddles with her phone, trying to project the air of a normal, harmless twenty something out for a night of drinking.</p><p>She’s barely been sitting there for five minutes when she gets her first text from Jaskier. <em>Everything ok?</em></p><p>Yennefer rolls her eyes. Honestly, what does this boy think she’s been doing for the last five centuries, sitting around, eating crumpets and gossiping about boys with her fellow sorceresses? She’s infiltrated far more dangerous places than this. All she texts back is, <em>Yes.</em></p><p>
  <em>We probably should have come up with a code word, so I know that it’s actually you texting me and that someone doesn’t have a gun to your head, forcing you to tell me you’re fine.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Fuck off, skinny jeans.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>That works.</em>
</p><p>Rolling her eyes, she pushes her phone away and surveys the room. There are about thirty people in the bar, almost entirely men, ranging from a pudgy-faced boy that barely looks old enough to drink to an elderly man snoring into his empty beer glass at the bar. She sits there for a while, eyeing the various groups and trying to assess who might be amenable to being approached and who’s liquored up enough that they’ll be willing to talk. She’s eyeing a group of young men gathered around one of the dartboards, jostling each other, when someone settles down on the barstool next to hers. He sits so close to her that his arm brushes hers.</p><p>Yennefer’s first instinct is to snarl at the invasion of her personal space, but then she remembers that she’s being harmless right now. She tries to project some of Jaskier’s wide-eyed innocence as she turns to smile at the man.</p><p>“Waiting for someone?” he asks. He’s probably mid-forties, tall and lean with sandy hair that’s just starting to gray at the temples and a neatly trimmed beard. His eyes hold a kindness that’s belied by the flame tattooed under his ear.</p><p>“I was, but I don’t think he’s going to show up.” Yennefer sticks her lower lip out in one of those pouts that a certain type of man seems to find irresistible.</p><p>She must have read him right, because he shifts closer. “His loss. I’m Alek.”</p><p>“Jenny,” Yennefer says.</p><p>“Have I seen you here before, Jenny?” His eyes flicker to her cleavage. “I think I would remember if I had.”</p><p>Not rolling her eyes is a challenge, but Yennefer rises to the occasion. “No, I’m just in Novigrad for the night to meet a friend. Or, I was. Guess I need to find somewhere else to spend the night now.”</p><p>Alek’s smile widens. “Don’t think you’ll have any problem with that, a pretty girl like you. Where are you from, Jenny?”</p><p>Gods, give her strength. Yennefer giggles and starts to play with her ponytail, gazing up at him with big eyes. “I'm from Aedirn. I go to Oxenfurt.”</p><p>“What do you study?” His eyes haven’t left her breasts. She doesn’t think he actually cares what she studies.</p><p>“Communications,” Yennefer lies easily. “But I think I’m going to transfer to U Novigrad next semester. I’m looking for a place that’s a little bit more… human-friendly.”</p><p>“Oh?” Something sharpens in Alek’s gaze.</p><p>“I don’t really feel safe on campus anymore.” Yennefer drops her voice to a whisper. “There was a <em>witcher</em> on campus last weekend. They invited him and his boyfriend for a lecture! Can you believe that?”</p><p>“I’ll believe anything about Oxenfurt. It’s been run by monsterfuckers for years.” Alek’s lip curls. “But I have it on good authority that you don’t have to worry about that witcher anymore, sweetheart.”</p><p>Yennefer’s grip on her glass tightens. “I don’t know, his boyfriend is an alum and the lecture was really popular. They’ll probably be back.”</p><p>“The witcher won’t be attending any more lectures, no matter who invites him,” Alek says confidently.</p><p>Yennefer leans closer, putting a hand on Alek’s arm. “Why not?”</p><p>“I can’t say. But you’re safe from that mutant, sweetheart. We all are.”</p><p>Yennefer could peel this man’s mind open with a thought. But no, she has to do this the subtle way. “Is he dead?”</p><p>“Probably. If he’s lucky.” Alek chuckles and she wants to tear his throat out with her bare hands.</p><p>She settles for taking another sip of beer. “Anyone who is willing to take on a witcher must be so strong. And so brave.”</p><p>Alek puffs out his chest a little and Yennefer starts to think that this couldn’t possibly be this easy when a scuffle breaks out at the door and she hears a familiar voice, raised in indignation. Gods fucking damn it. Yennefer looks around and finds Jaskier standing by the door, surrounded by an ever-growing circle of Eternal Fire members, looking like a rabbit that just wandered into a fox den.</p><p>“Oh, I’m going to kill him,” she whispers.</p><p>***</p><p>Jaskier really meant to stay in the car. And for nearly an hour, he did. It wasn’t his fault that nature eventually called. And it wasn’t his fault that on his way back from the twenty-four hour cafe he’d ducked into to get a cup of coffee and take a leak, he just happened to run into the younger of the two men who attacked him in Oxenfurt. Jaskier tried to get away, but the man had friends, which is how Jaskier ended up getting dragged into the Eternal Fire bar.</p><p>“It’s the witcher’s whore!” The man points at his own swollen face. “He broke my fucking nose and the witcher dislocated Garrett’s jaw.”</p><p>“In my defense, you started the fight. We just finished it.” Jaskier’s eyes dart around the room. He finds Yennefer sitting at the bar, cozied up to a sandy-haired man and watching Jaskier with a blank expression.</p><p>“What the fuck were you doing here, lurking around!” One of the men shoves Jaskier.</p><p>“I wasn’t lurking. I was getting coffee. Which you spilled all over the sidewalk. It was Toussainti Roast, you heathen.”</p><p>“You didn’t lose your witcher, did you?” the man from Oxenfurt asks and the knowing glint in his eye tells Jaskier everything he needs to know.</p><p>Jaskier launches himself at the man, but two pairs of hands grab him by the arms and haul him backwards. He struggles, shouting, “Where is he? What did you do?”</p><p>When he looks back towards the bar, Yennefer is still sitting there. The blank expression on her face has been replaced with a wide-eyed, slightly scandalized look that’s laughable on her. But the man who she was sitting with is striding towards Jaskier and his captors. The crowd parts to let him through.</p><p>“What should we do with him, Alek?” one of the men holding Jaskier asks.</p><p>Alek smirks, regarding Jaskier with pale eyes. “Someone get this man a drink,” he says jovially.</p><p>Someone hurls a glass of beer at Jaskier. It hits him in the chest and shatters, drenching him in beer. Uproarious laughter fills the room.</p><p>Jaskier meets Alek’s gaze. “I’m looking for Geralt.”</p><p>“He’s not here.” Alek gestures around the room.</p><p>“Then where is he?”</p><p>“It’s not my job to keep track of filthy mutants. He’s probably rotting in hell, where he belongs.”</p><p>“Gotta have a soul to go to hell,” a woman’s voice says.</p><p>Jaskier’s fists clench. “If he’s hurt, I’ll burn this entire place to the fucking ground.”</p><p>Alek smirks. “Even if we did have your witcher, what did you think was going to happen? That you’d walk in here and we’d just hand him over to you?”</p><p>“Honestly, I hadn’t thought that far ahead.” Jaskier’s gaze flickers towards the bar. Yennefer isn’t there. Hopefully that means she’s planning something and not that she just decided to leave him to his fate. “Geralt doesn’t keep me around for my strategic thinking skills, if you know what I mean.”</p><p>The smirk vanishes into a look of disgust and Alek looks around. “What do you all think? What should we do with the witcher’s bitch?”</p><p>Suggestions start being called out, each less pleasant than the last, and Jaskier feels his shoulders tensing. If Yennefer is going to intervene, now is the time, before he starts losing vital body parts. Alek draws a wicked-looking knife from his belt and stalks forward. Jaskier is suddenly fiercely glad that Geralt isn’t here to see him surrounded by people who want to hurt him because of Geralt. Geralt would probably tear apart everyone in this room and then they’d stop calling him the Butcher of Blaviken and start calling him the Butcher of Novigrad.</p><p>Alek points the knife at Jaskier’s face. “There are some monsters that just need to be gotten rid of.”</p><p>“I couldn’t agree more,” Yennefer says from directly behind Alek.</p><p>The room explodes into chaos.</p><p>Jaskier is thrown to the floor and pinned under the limp body of one of the men who was holding him. The man has no visible injuries, but he’s unconscious. Around him, people are shouting. Jaskier pushes the unconscious man off of him and scrambles backwards. As he clambers to his feet, someone slams into him, bringing both of them to the ground. It’s the man from Oxenfurt. He punches Jaskier in the face. It’s a sloppy punch; he swings too wildly. Geralt would be disgusted. Jaskier knees his attacker in the balls. The man grunts and Jaskier shoves him away.</p><p>He jumps to his feet and the man follows, wheezing slightly. Jaskier’s attacker has a knife in his hand. Jaskier is starting to get really, really tired of people threatening him with weapons. The man slashes at him and Jaskier reacts without thinking. He seizes his attacker’s arm and twists. The man screams and Jaskier hears the sickening pop of something dislocating. The knife clatters to the ground and Jaskier picks up a barstool and smashes it over the man’s head. The asshole goes down.</p><p>Jaskier turns, ready to take on the next person who wants to try him, and finds a room of fallen Eternal Fire members. The ones who aren’t unconscious are whimpering and moaning quietly. Yennefer stands among the wreckage of the bar, looking unruffled and self-satisfied. She just took down over two dozen people single handedly and Jaskier knows that she knows how badass she looks. It would be infuriating, if he weren’t so impressed.</p><p>“Good teamwork,” he says.</p><p>She cocks an eyebrow, and for a moment, he thinks she’s going to make a cutting about how he only took on one opponent. But instead she just says, “We’re not done yet.” She rounds on Alek, who is on the ground, clutching his stomach, and snatches up the knife he used to threaten Jaskier. Alek doesn’t flinch as she holds it to his throat.</p><p>“Who the fuck are you?” Alek demands.</p><p>“Well, my name isn’t Jenny and I’m not an Oxenfurt student who’s half your age,” Yennefer says coolly.</p><p>“We don’t tolerate witches here.”</p><p>“I don’t give a single shit what you tolerate. Where is Geralt of Rivia?”</p><p>“You mean the Butcher—”</p><p>“You know exactly who I mean. Don’t play dumb.”</p><p>Alek’s eyes meet Jaskier’s. “He’s dead.”</p><p>Just as Jaskier feels the floor drop out from under him, Yennefer snarls, “You shouldn’t lie to a woman who has a knife at your throat.”</p><p>Alek must see something in her face that reminds him that he’s just a squishy human facing down an all-powerful sorceress, because he says, “We don’t have him.”</p><p>“Then who does?”</p><p>“I don’t know!”</p><p>“You or one of your buddies set his car on fire.” Jaskier’s voice comes out a croak. He’s still shaken for the couple of seconds he thought Geralt was dead.</p><p>When Alek doesn’t say anything, Yennefer leans forward. “I could pry the truth from your mind, but that would just be a waste of my time and it would be very uncomfortable for you. Tell me what I want to know.”</p><p>Alek takes a moment to engage in some quiet contemplation. “We got tipped off that the Butcher was going to be in Oxenfurt this weekend.”</p><p>“Who tipped you off?”</p><p>“I don’t know. It was an anonymous email. I assumed it was a concerned student. So we went to check it out.”</p><p>“By check it out, you mean you sent two jackasses to try to beat the shit out of me in a bar?” Jaskier demands.</p><p>Alek shrugs. “They were overly enthusiastic.”</p><p>“<em>Overly—</em>”</p><p>“What happened next?” Yennefer asks.</p><p>“A group of us were waiting outside their bed and breakfast the next day, when we saw the Butcher leave by himself. We followed him out to a farm. We were going to have a chat with him about how we feel about mutants in Redania.”</p><p>Jaskier’s fists clench at his sides.</p><p>“But someone else got to him first,” Alek says, sounding bitterly disappointed.</p><p>“Who?” Yennefer crowds closer to him, looming over him.</p><p>“I don’t know! I didn’t get a clear view of her. She just appeared and portaled him away. After they were gone, we torched the car. Figured we’d come all that way, we might as well have some fun.”</p><p>“What heroes you are,” Yennefer says flatly. “The sorceress. What did she look like?”</p><p>“Tall. Dark skin. Short hair.” His lip curls. “Prettier than you.”</p><p>Jaskier snorts, because of course this asshole would think that telling Yennefer she’s not that pretty is the most devastating insult he could come up with, but Yennefer has gone pale. Abruptly, she straightens up. “Jaskier, we’re leaving.”</p><p>“Seriously?” Jaskier looks between her and Alek.</p><p>“He’s told us everything he knows,” Yennefer says. “We need to go.”</p><p>Now that she’s not holding a knife to him, Alek seems to recover his bravery. He lurches to his feet. “Yeah, you should leave, you little—”</p><p>Yennefer slams him back against the bar, fisting his shirt in one hand and holding the knife to his groin with the other. “Listen to me,” she says in such a low voice that Jaskier almost doesn’t hear her. “After this, you don’t go anywhere near Geralt of Rivia or Jaskier Pankratz. You and your people don’t comment on Jaskier’s blog anymore. You don’t show up at any lectures Jaskier might give. You don’t follow them. You don’t try to figure out where they live. If you so much as think about them again, I will find you. You don’t want to see me again, Alek. I can promise you that.”</p><p>Alek is staring down at the blade pressed against his balls with the expression of someone rethinking their entire belief system. "Yes, ma'am.</p><p>"Good." She turns, seizes Jaskier by the wrist, and hauls him out of the bar.</p><p>Jaskier gapes at her. “That was—”</p><p>“I was right,” she says shortly. “Something much worse than the Eternal Fire is involved. Nilfgaard has Geralt.”</p><p>***</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Of Mages and Memories</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Yennefer and Jaskier are ambushed by an old friend of Yennefer's.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you to everyone who’s left kudos and comments so far! I appreciate all of you.</p><p>Just a head’s up, I’m going to take a week off from updating this story next week so I can work on the next installment of my <em>Only Human</em> series. I’ll be back with regular updates in two weeks, on July 10th (how is it almost July? What happened to April, May, and June?)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Neither Yennefer nor Jaskier discuss the fact that they need to leave Novigrad immediately. They come to the conclusion without speaking, returning to the hotel room and packing their things briskly. Jaskier’s mind is full of too many thoughts and feelings to put into words. Nilfgaard has Geralt. If Nilfgaard has Geralt, they’re probably looking for Ciri. Geralt won’t give up Ciri, no matter what they do to him, so he’s most likely being tortured. Eventually, they’ll realize that Geralt doesn’t even know where Ciri and Calanthe are hiding, and they’ll kill him. Geralt will just be another one of the thousands that disappear at the Nilfgaardian government’s hands every year.</p><p>“You know the sorceress who took him?” he asks Yennefer as they drive over the bridge out of Novigrad.</p><p>“Her name is Fringilla Vigo.”</p><p>It takes him a moment to place the name, but when he does, cold dread spreads through him. “The emperor’s court mage?”</p><p>“That’s her.”</p><p>Then this isn’t just another weasel like Stregobor, frantically trying to claw his way out of obscurity. Fringilla Vigo is one of the most powerful people on the Continent. Possibly the most powerful, if the rumors about who really runs the emperor’s court are true.</p><p>“We went to Aretuza together,” Yennefer adds.</p><p>Jaskier is surprised. Yennefer has never seemed like the type to willingly offer up personal information. “Were you friends?”</p><p>“Of a sort.”</p><p>Jaskier has learned from Geralt to know when he’s going to have to settle for an unsatisfactory answer, so he doesn’t press her. They don’t talk again until Jaskier realizes that his car is nearly out of gas. When he pulls off the highway and into the first gas station he can find, Yennefer turns to glare at him. </p><p>“Why are we stopping?” she demands.</p><p>“Yennefer, I realize you don’t know a damn thing about cars, but they run on something called gasoline, which we’re nearly out of.”</p><p>“I could keep it running with magic.”</p><p>“That doesn’t seem like it would be good for the engine,” Jaskier says with a wince. “Also, I could use some coffee and something to eat.”</p><p>“It’s too risky to stop.”</p><p>“You sound like Geralt. What, you think Alek is going to send more of his goons after us? Most of them are probably still peeling themselves off the floor of that bar.”</p><p>“I’m not worried about the Eternal Fire. Fringilla will know that you’re the easiest way to get Geralt to talk. She already sent people after you once. It will happen again.”</p><p>“Geralt doesn’t even know where Ciri and Calanthe are.”</p><p>“That won’t stop her from taking you apart in front of him.”</p><p>Jaskier is glad it’s dark in the car so she can’t see him shudder. “And on that note, I’m going to go get some cheese puffs! Want anything? Oh, silly me, they don’t sell the souls of small children at establishments like this.”</p><p>“Oh, fuck off.” But to Jaskier's surprise, Yennefer follows him out of the car.</p><p>At his questioning look, she shrugs. “Both times I’ve left you unattended in the last two days, you’ve nearly gotten yourself kidnapped or killed.”</p><p>“In all fairness, neither of those times were my fault. Okay, maybe the second time was my fault, but I really needed to pee.”</p><p>Yennefer snorts disdainfully. “Speaking of, I need a ladies’ room.”</p><p>Jaskier stares at her.</p><p>“What?” she snaps.</p><p>“First, I learn that you were a child at one point. Then I learn you do human things like use the bathroom. This is really a banner day.”</p><p>“Notice that I’m waiting until we’re not in immediate danger.”</p><p>“Ugh, rub it in, why don’t you?”</p><p>The convenience store is small and lit with harsh fluorescent lights, with a wall of windows overlooking the parking lot. The only cars in the lot are Jaskier’s and a beat-up station wagon that most likely belongs to the gangly teenage cashier, who doesn’t even look up from his phone when Jaskier and Yennefer enter the store. Yennefer heads towards the bathrooms in the back and Jaskier begins to peruse the shelves. The coffee pots are empty and the snack selection is lacking, but Jaskier goes to grabs a couple of energy drinks, a tub of cheese puffs, and a bag of beef jerky. He goes to the counter to prepay for gas and buy the snacks. The bleary-eyed cashier looks like he’s barely out of high school.</p><p>“Quiet night?” Jaskier asks.</p><p>The kid shrugs as he swipes Jaskier’s credit card. “Always is.”</p><p>Jaskier catches movement out of the corner of his eye and glances out the window. The parking lot is well-lit, with no shadows for something to lurk in. There’s a blur of movement as something scurries across the pavement, so fast Jaskier can’t see it. It vanishes from sight.</p><p>“Do you want your receipt?” the clerk asks in a tone that suggests this might not be his first time asking that question.</p><p>“Uh, yeah, sure.” Jaskier doesn’t take his eyes off the parking lot. It was probably just a cat, he tells himself.</p><p>He’s been watching Geralt fight monsters too long to believe that.</p><p>“Sir?” the clerk snaps. “I need you to sign.”</p><p>“Sorry.” Jaskier turns to sign his receipt, feeling the prickle on the back of his neck of being watched. He doesn’t want to look, but he turns around. On the other side of the window stands a tall figure with their hood pulled up. The only features Jaskier can see clearly are a thin mouth and a jawline covered in a thick dark beard. He couldn't look more malevolent if he tried. Jaskier opens his mouth to call for Yennefer, just as the window implodes, spraying shards of glass over the interior of the store.</p><p>Jaskier twists to protect his face from the glass, feeling the sting of dozens of tiny cuts on his back and shoulders. The clerk lets out a strangled cry and when Jaskier looks up, he sees why. At first glance, he thinks it’s an endrega. It’s an insectoid, large and multi-legged, but it’s too big to be an endrega and no endrega that Jaskier has ever seen has so many fangs or front legs that look like scythes. The hooded man stands behind the creature and in the harsh lights of the store, Jaskier can see emotionless dark eyes and some kind of sigil painted on the man’s forehead.</p><p>Jaskier can hear the terrified whimpering of the clerk hiding behind the counter. He would love to have a counter to hide behind, but he’s frozen in place.</p><p>“What do you want?” he whispers.</p><p>The mage’s lips curl into a smile, but he doesn’t answer. The endrega-like creature lets out a roar and Jaskier flinches. He can think of a half dozen other monsters he’s seen that are scarier, but Geralt and his swords were between those monsters and Jasker. Now all Jaskier has is a sorceress who is nowhere to be seen and a cowering teenager. And his knives are in the car. He is so fucking dead.</p><p>He steps sideways, away from the counter, and the creature’s gaze follows him. Maybe he can draw it away so the kid can escape, at the very least. “Look, whatever you want, no one has to get hurt, okay? I’ll come quietly. Just tell me what you want.”</p><p>The mage’s expression doesn’t change and he doesn’t speak.</p><p>“My boyfriend also doesn’t like to answer when I ask him simple questions,” Jaskier says, voice going high-pitched as the creature growls. “And I’ve gotten very good at reading monosyllabic grunts and dirty looks, so if you don’t feel like speaking in full sentences, that’s—”</p><p>The creature lunges.</p><p>***</p><p>Yennefer has been alive for a long time and has met a lot of people. For the most part, they blend together. But when she hears the sound of glass shattering and comes rushing out of the bathroom, she sees one of the few faces that have managed to haunt her for over four centuries. The mage looks the same as he did the last time she saw him. He’s wearing the exact same outfit with the same symbol painted in black on his forehead. His eyes hold that same eerie emptiness. The krallach that is standing far too close to Jaskier is identical to the one she tore apart in her futile attempt to save the baby princess.</p><p>Yennefer does something that she hasn’t done in centuries. She freezes up.</p><p>Queen Kalis’s voice echoes in her memories. <em>“Get up, you useless witch!”</em> The screams of men as they were torn apart. A baby’s cries, cut off abruptly.</p><p>Yennefer doesn’t fail often. That day, she failed.</p><p>She isn’t weak often. That day, she was weak.</p><p>She wonders if this mage actively works for Nilfgaard, or if Fringilla hired him because she knew what seeing him again would do to Yennefer. The story of what happened to Queen Kalis and her baby must have made its way around the Brotherhood, especially when it resulted in Yennefer’s rather dramatic break from Aedirn’s court and the Brotherhood. The thought of Fringilla so easily guessing one of Yennefer’s weak spots makes her skin crawl.</p><p>Jaskier is trying to bargain with the mage, the stupid idiot. Yennefer can hear the terror in his voice. At least he’s smart enough to be scared, if not smart enough to run away. Not that running will do him any good. She remembers how fast the krallach can move. He starts rambling about Geralt, of all things, and Yennefer sees the krallach’s razor-sharp legs twitch. The mage is growing impatient and by extension, so is his creature.</p><p>They’re trying to draw her out.</p><p>Just as Yennefer realizes that, the krallach lunges. Jaskier screams as it bowls him over, pinning him to the ground. One of its legs presses against his throat. The mage looks across the store and his eyes meet Yennefer’s. He doesn’t speak. He didn’t speak at all last time they met. She isn’t sure if he can’t, or if it’s for the intimidation factor. If it’s the latter, it’s upsettingly effective.</p><p>For once, she appreciates Jaskier’s talking, which lets her know he’s still alive. “Wait, wait, please don’t feed me to your… is this a mutated endrega? Or a construct of some kind? No, it doesn’t matter, just please, don’t.”</p><p>The mage’s expression changes, just the slightest raise of his eyebrow. He doesn’t need to speak for Yennefer to know what he’s trying to convey. <em>“Come and get him.”</em></p><p>“Yenn, if you’re going to pull out the badassery, now would be a great time!” Jaskier cries.</p><p>Yennefer doesn’t think the mage will kill Jaskier, not when his objective is most likely to bring Jaskier back to Nilfgaard to use as a bargaining chip, but she can’t risk it. He’s a mercenary and mercenaries can’t be trusted to follow orders. If the man was willing to kill a baby, what’s one annoying musician to him?</p><p>There’s broken glass scattered all over the front of the store. With a twitch of her finger, she lifts it into the air and hurls it at the mage. He blocks it and she tries to bring one of the fluorescent lights down on his head. He blocks that too, all without breaking eye contact with her. Gods, she cannot wait to wipe that blank smugness off his face.</p><p>But first, Jaskier. She turns and throws everything she has at the krallach. It bursts like a water balloon, spraying everything around it, including Jaskier, in viscous yellow blood. The musician yowls in indignation. She opens a portal up behind him and, with a flick of her wrist, she shoves him through it. He’ll reappear by his car and hopefully have the sense to drive away. Somehow, she doubts it. </p><p>To her satisfaction, anger flickers across the mage’s expression and he raises his hand to send a wall of magic at her. She blocks it. Magic crackles in the air and she can smell ozone. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees the teenage clerk fleeing for the back door. The mage’s eyes follow him, but he makes no move to stop the boy. Yennefer grits her teeth, feeling sweat starting to bead on her brow. She once incinerated an entire infantry of Nilfgaardian soldiers. One anonymous mage should be no match for her. She just needs to catch him off guard and—</p><p>Jaskier’s car comes flying through the empty space where there used to be a window and slams into the mage with a metallic crunch. The mage is thrown backwards into a display of canned goods, which collapses, sending cans skittering across the floor.</p><p>“Get in!” Jaskier shouts.</p><p>Yennefer looks over at the mage, who is trying to pull himself to his feet, but struggling with the canned goods rolling around. His nose is bleeding and his eyes, fastened on Jaskier, burn with rage.</p><p>“Yennefer!” Jaskier sounds terrified and that’s what gets her feet moving. She would dearly love to stay here and destroy the mage, but she needs to get Jaskier to safety. For Geralt.</p><p>As soon as she leaps into the passenger seat, Jaskier throws the car into reverse. The tires squeal as they race out of the parking lot.</p><p>For a second, the only sound in the car is their labored breathing. Then Jaskier says, “We still need to stop for gas.”</p><p>***</p><p>Jaskier has showered three times, and he still can’t get the sour stench of the monster’s blood out of his hair. Worse off are his jeans and t-shirt, which were drenched in the hideous stuff. Mournfully, he shoves them in the trash can, feeling a jolt of guilt for whatever unfortunate soul will be tasked with emptying the trash tomorrow. With a sigh, he leaves the motel bathroom in a cloud of steam.</p><p>“I was starting to think a zeugl had crawled out of the drain and devoured you,” Yennefer says.</p><p>“That can’t… wait, can that happen?” Jaskier throws a suspicious look at the shower.</p><p>She lifts a shoulder in a shrug. “You’re asking the wrong person.”</p><p>“Great, well thank you for that mental image.” Jaskier groans and collapses on his bed, which only smells slightly of mildew.</p><p>The roadside motel where he and Yennefer are staying for the night is as dingy and depressing as Jaskier expected. It’s off the beaten path, which is what they need, so Jaskier tries not to let himself be bothered by the suspicious stains on his sheets and the loud arguing they can hear from the next room. He’s stayed in worse places on his travels with Geralt. The TV is on, but muted, and the flickering glow is the only light in the room. Yennefer sits on her own bed, wearing a long, high-necked nightgown that wouldn’t look out of place in a gothic novel. Jaskier wishes he had the energy to tease her about it.</p><p>“Speaking of horrible beasts,” Jaskier says. “What the fuck was that thing?”</p><p>“It’s called a krallach,” Yennefer says.</p><p>“What’s a krallach?”</p><p>“A breed of idr.”</p><p>“I hope you realize that that clears nothing up.”</p><p>“They’re magically-created creatures,” she tells him. “Strong, fast, extremely intelligent, and vicious. You’re lucky. I once watched a krallach rip its way through twelve armed guards and their horses in a matter of seconds.”</p><p>There’s a careful blankness to her face that reminds Jaskier of Geralt when he’s talking about something that’s deeply painful, but doesn’t want that pain acknowledged. “And that mage? Had you met him before?”</p><p>She’s quiet for a second, then she says, “Yes.”</p><p>“Who is he?”</p><p>“I know nothing about him, other than that he apparently has an affinity for using krallachs as weapons. I never learned his name. As far as I know, he never attended Ban Ard. I searched for clues as to his identity for months with no success.”</p><p>“The one who got away?” Jaskier asks teasingly.</p><p>Yennefer ignores him. “When I left Aretuza, my first assignment was in Aedirn’s court. I was there for thirty years. I expected it to be oh so glamorous. I would thwart assassination attempts and terrify unruly nobles into submission. I would change the world. Instead, I spent thirty years changing the color of the marble floors whenever the queen was in the mood to redecorate and stopping the king’s lovers from finding out about each other.”</p><p>“Sure you loved that.”</p><p>“At first, I didn’t mind it,” she says. “For the first time in my life, I was powerful. I had influence. It took me a long time to realize it was an illusion.”</p><p>Jaskier flips over on his back to stare up at the water-stained ceiling “So what happened?”</p><p>“The queen and king of Lyria came for a diplomatic visit to Aedirn. I was escorting Queen Kalis of Lyria and her newborn daughter home when we were attacked. The king wanted sons, you see, and Kalis had birthed three daughters instead, so he hired an assassin to kill her and make it look like brigands.”</p><p>“The mage?”</p><p>“Yes. His krallach killed our armed guards and I portaled Kalis and her baby away. He chased us. I kept portaling away, but he kept tracking us. Eventually, I overexerted myself. I managed to kill the krallach and escape with my life, but Kalis and the princess were killed. The baby died in my arms.”</p><p>He glances over at her and sees that her expression is still blank. “Fuck, Yenn, that’s awful.”</p><p>“It was the first time I’d ever held a baby. I had younger brothers and sisters, but my stepfather never let me go near them. She was so small. I never realized how small babies are.” Yennefer lets out a long, slow breath. “And it doesn’t matter, because had she lived, she would have died centuries ago.”</p><p>“It wasn’t your fault,” Jaskier says gently.</p><p>“Yes, it was. I was young, stupid, and had never been in combat before. I thought I was unstoppable, but I learned that day that I was very, very wrong. I barely made it out with my life.”</p><p>“So what happened with the king? Did you kill him at least?”</p><p>Yennefer snorts. “Of course not. No, he lived to a ripe old age and had lots of wives who died mysteriously after only birthing him daughters. I think he was on number eight when he finally passed. His oldest daughter was a good queen, though, until Nilfgaard invaded and wiped out the royal family.”</p><p>If Jaskier turns this into a song, he’ll give it a happy ending, where Yennefer safely escapes with the baby and then takes down the wicked king who would harm his own wife and child. “What about you?”</p><p>“What about me?”</p><p>“What did you do? Obviously, you didn’t go back to court after all that.”</p><p>She laughs humorlessly. “They couldn’t have dragged me back at sword point. I left Aedirn and the Brotherhood and traveled the Continent. I went from town to town, selling my wares. Actually made quite a name for myself with my fertility potions, which is ironic.”</p><p>“Why is that ironic?” Jaskier frowns.</p><p>“Sorceresses can’t have children. Part of our graduation ceremony from Aretuza was a hysterectomy. No king wanted a pregnant sorceress in his court. We were meant to be beautiful and terrifying and unattainable. Plus, a child could leave us… emotionally compromised.”</p><p>“Well, that sounds like a crock of bullshit. I’m guessing they didn’t cut the Ban Ard graduates’ balls off?”</p><p>“What do you think?”</p><p>Jaskier makes a disgusted noise. “Typical. I’m sorry.”</p><p>“It’s fine,” Yennefer says, suddenly sounding very tired. “It took me a long time to make my peace with it. Not even because I particularly wanted a baby, but because I wanted the choice. But it was a fool’s errand and then Nilfgaard happened. After that, it didn’t seem fair to bring a child into the world, even if I could.”</p><p>It occurs to Jaskier that this is probably the longest conversation he’s ever had with Yennefer. It’s also probably the first time he’s ever been completely at ease in her presence. He isn’t waiting for the next verbal barb or venomous glare. Jaskier wants to ask her what they’re going to do next. How they’re going to get Geralt back from Nilfgaard and escape the mage that is probably still after him, hopefully without any more krallachs. But his eyes are getting heavy; the past two nights of sleeplessness are catching up to him.</p><p>“None of it was your fault,” he tells her again, because he doesn’t think she believed him the first time.</p><p>In the dim light, he sees her lips curl into the faintest smile. “Go to sleep, Jaskier.”</p><p>“Don’t tell me what to do,” he mumbles, closing his eyes.</p><p>Within seconds, he’s asleep.</p><p>***</p><p>Yennefer is back in the pigsty where she slept for the first fourteen years of her life. She’s dreamed about this place before, but she instantly knows this is no natural dream. The colors are too sharp, the smell of the pigs too strong. Her neck and back ache and she realizes that she’s back to her pre-transformation body.</p><p>“Hello, Fringilla,” she says coolly.</p><p>“I thought you might be homesick, Yenna.” Fringilla appears in front of her. Yennefer hasn’t seen Fringilla in well over two centuries; the other sorceress hasn’t changed a bit.</p><p>Yennefer's lets her lip curl into an expression of polite disdain. “How thoughtful.”</p><p>“It’s been too long, Yenna.” Fringilla's sneer matches her own.</p><p>“No, it hasn't," Yennefer says. "Why don’t we cut the nonsense and you tell me what you want.”</p><p>Fringilla draws herself up. “You never were one for social graces.”</p><p>“No, I was never one for bullshit.”</p><p>“Preferred pig shit?”</p><p>Yennefer bares her teeth into a smile. “I see your wit has grown no more cutting since we were fourteen. Not all of us had powerful uncles to buy our way into Aretuza. How is old Artorius, by the way? Or was he one of the ones who died when you and your ilk destroyed the Brotherhood? It was hard to keep track, what with all the backstabbing and bloodshed.”</p><p>Fringilla’s eyes narrow. “You’re traveling with someone I want to have a conversation with.”</p><p>“Of course, by have a conversation, you really mean you want to torture him to death in front of his lover.”</p><p>“There’s no need for that kind of unpleasantness. I’m sure where we can find a solution where no innocent blood is shed.”</p><p>Yennefer takes a step closer. It hurts to lift her head to look the other sorceress in the eye, but she grits her teeth and bears it. “Jaskier Pankratz is under my protection. You won’t touch him.”</p><p>“Do you really think you could stop me?” Fringilla asks.</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>Fringilla scoffs. “Lack of confidence was never your issue, Yenna.”</p><p>“Lack of sense was always yours,” Yennefer says. “What is this, Fringilla? Trying to remind me that I grew up in a pigsty? That I had a hunchback? All this reminds me is that I started out with nothing and I still managed to make something of myself.”</p><p>“Ah yes, a forgotten sorceress living in an old ruin. The pigs would be proud.”</p><p>“Not all of us strive to run dictatorships from the shadows.”</p><p>“There could be a place for you in the court.”</p><p>Yennefer laughs, loud and undignified. She doesn’t care. “That’s your plan? Try to bribe me to give up Jaskier by offering me the glitz and glory of being your underling? No thank you.”</p><p>“What do you care for one little blogger, anyway? Isn’t he just an obstacle between you and Geralt of Rivia?”</p><p>“Even that were the case, not all of us have to resort to killing our romantic rivals.”</p><p>Fringilla’s smile is pure venom. “What does it say about you, Yenna, that not even a mutant wanted you?”</p><p>Yennefer’s fingers flex with the urge to cast a curse. Only the knowledge that this is a dream and she’ll just look foolish stays her hand. “My romantic relationship with Geralt ended over a century ago. Jaskier is a nuisance, but not because he's a romantic rival. It's just his personality. That being said, none of that will stop me from tearing you apart if Geralt is hurt.”</p><p>“He’s hurt, Yennefer. Come and get me. Bring Jaskier, to make things easier.”</p><p>The scene changes. Instead of the pigsty, they’re standing in a sterile hospital room. A man is strapped to a bed in front of her, screaming. For an instant, Yennefer doesn’t recognize him as Geralt, because she’s never heard her friend scream like that. She didn’t know anything could make him scream like that. She once had to magically reattach his arm to his body and he only winced a few times and told her to hurry up so he could go finish off the manticore he was fighting. His head is thrown back, his eyes rolled back in his head, and his skin is slick with sweat. He spasms against the leather bindings holding him. His wrists are raw and bloody.</p><p>“Geralt?” Yennefer takes a step towards him, then reminds herself that she’s in a dream. Geralt isn’t really here and there’s nothing she can do to comfort him.</p><p>“His fortitude is impressive,” Fringilla says. “I expected him to lose consciousness hours ago, but he’s still awake and screaming.”</p><p>“What are you doing to him?” Yennefer can’t take her eyes off Geralt’s tortured expression.</p><p>“Let’s just say you have a day, maybe two, before the effects are permanent. Of course, if I had alternate ways to get the information I want out of him, none of this would be necessary.”</p><p>Yennefer wants to tell Fringilla that Geralt has no idea where Ciri and Calanthe are, but if Fringilla believes her, she might kill Geralt out of pure spite. She takes a deep breath and forces herself to remain calm. “You won’t get what you want out of him.”</p><p>“What about you?” Fringilla asks. “Tell me where the last Riannons are, and I’ll stop this. He doesn’t have to suffer anymore.”</p><p>Geralt’s screams break off in a choked moan.</p><p>“I won’t turn over a sixteen year old girl to you.” Yennefer wishes she could cover her ears and hum until the screaming stops, like she did when she was a child listening to her stepfather yell at her mother.</p><p>“Why not? Letting children die is a specialty of yours.”</p><p>Yennefer turns on Fringilla with a snarl, then freezes as her muscles lock into place.</p><p>Fringilla wears an unbearably smug expression. “I will find you, Yennefer. And I will find Jaskier. When I do, you’re going to wish you had made things easier for us all. Especially for your witcher.”</p><p>As Geralt’s screams start up again, Yennefer wakes up in their dingy little motel room, with Jaskier’s soft snores the only sound in the room. It takes a long time for her heart to stop pounding.</p><p>***</p><p>Ciri’s eyes snap open. Her pillow muffles her cry, to relief. It’s always humiliating when everyone in the house comes running  because she screamed herself awake yet again. Heart pounding in her chest, she takes a moment to orient herself. The window is open and she can hear the waves crashing against the rocks in the distance and smell the tang of the salty air. She’s not in Posada anymore. She’s not standing in a filthy little pigsty, or a hospital room. Yennefer isn’t there, nor is the other sorceress she didn’t know. Geralt isn’t screaming in front of her.</p><p>Geralt.</p><p>Ciri swings her legs out of bed, wincing when her bare feet hit the cold hardwood floor, and slips out of her room and down the hall. The lights in her grandmother and Eist’s room and Triss’s room are off, but at the end of the hall, she sees light seeping from under Tissaia’s door. She knocks and pokes her head into the room.</p><p>Tissaia is sitting up in bed, reading glasses perched on the end of her nose as she reads one of Calanthe’s paperback romances. Her brow furrows as she looks up at Ciri. “Ciri, what’s wrong?”</p><p>It’s only then that Ciri realizes that she’s shaking. “It’s Geralt. I think he’s dying.”</p><p>***</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So the assassin who attacks Yennefer, Kalis, and company in Episode 4 is listed on IMDB as “Ronin Mage,” but I couldn’t find any other information about him on the Wiki. I have no idea if Ronin is supposed to be his name, or it’s a place where he trained, or what. So for the purposes of this story, he’s an anonymous scary mage with no name. All information about the krallach is taken from the Wiki.</p><p>Thank you for reading! I’ll be back in 2 weeks. (And for those of you who read <em>I’m Only Human After All</em> and have been waiting for the prequel, I’m hoping to post the first chapter of that on July 7th.)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Of Humanity and Heartbreak</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Jaskier struggles with the discovery of just how grave Geralt's situation is. Yennefer provides comfort the only way she knows how: making things worse.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>And we’re back! Thank you for your patience during the brief hiatus.</p><p>Content warning: There’s a brief description of a panic attack in this chapter.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He doesn’t remember his name. He’s not even sure if he has one. All that exists is the pain. It suffuses every fiber of his being, like he’s being lit on fire from the inside. He tried to fight it for a while, he thinks. He’s vaguely aware of leather straps that have chafed his skin raw, but it’s a minor discomfort. Occasionally, a woman’s face appears above his and asks him if he wants it to stop, but he can only scream. The little part of him that can still comprehend conscious thoughts knows that no matter how agonizing this is, whatever comes next will be worse.</p><p>But then there’s a place beyond the pain.</p><p>He’s standing in a kitchen with a man facing away from him, holding his hand under a dripping faucet. “Your turn to call the landlord, love. She actually picks up when you call. No one sends the big, scary witcher to voicemail.” The man’s voice is warm and jovial as he turns around. He has bright blue eyes and a wide smile and is wearing jeans and a vibrant green button-up shirt.</p><p>A fluffy gray cat hops into the sink and the man groans. “Mousesack!” he says exasperatedly and lifts the cat out of the sink. “Geralt, control your fur child.”</p><p>Is his name Geralt?</p><p>The man— Jaskier, Geralt remembers now— looks back at him with a glint in his eye. This is Jaskier and they’re standing in their kitchen in their townhouse and they’ve had this talk before. Recently, Geralt thinks.</p><p>“I was thinking we could visit Ciri and Calanthe soon,” Jaskier says. “Maybe after we visit Oxenfurt this weekend.”</p><p>Geralt stares at him. Jaskier is standing in front of him, smiling in his green shirt, and then he’s kneeling on the ground in boxer shorts, looking up at Geralt in terror as his throat is cut. He’s cowering against a grimy bathroom sink as two men round on him. He’s sitting on a four-poster bed in a motel room, knees drawn up to his chest, with a bruise on his cheek. He’s pinned to the ground, screaming as a wyvern snarls in his face. He’s curled up next to Geralt in bed, whispering, “I love you so much,” into Geralt’s hair while Geralt kisses his throat.</p><p>“Geralt?” The Jaskier in the green polo shirt asks. “How far away do you think Ciri and Calanthe are from Oxenfurt? Are they close?”</p><p>Ciri. Long blond hair and green eyes. A scream that could level buildings. Calanthe. The same eyes as her granddaughter, but hardened by age and heartbreak.</p><p>“Or are they closer to us here in Posada? It’s been so long. I miss them. Don’t you miss them, Geralt?”</p><p>“Geralt?” A broken voice says and he looks up to see a dark haired woman with purple eyes looking at him with undisguised anguish. She turns and shouts at Jaskier, “What are you doing to him?”</p><p>And then the girl and Jaskier are both gone and there’s another girl standing in front of him.</p><p>Ciri.</p><p>Her hair is short and red instead of long and blond, but it’s undoubtedly her. She’s watching him with horror, those green eyes filled with tears.</p><p>She can’t be here. He can’t let anyone know she’s here.</p><p>With every ounce of his self-control, he pushes her out of his mind. As soon as she vanishes, the pain floods back in and he realizes that he’s stopped screaming. He can’t anymore. He can only mouth in silent agony, a thin rasping noise emerging from his throat.</p><p>Before he slips back into mindlessness, he notices that his heart is beating faster than it has in centuries.</p><p>***</p><p>Yennefer gives up trying to sleep shortly after dawn and slips out of the motel room. She spares a glance at Jaskier’s bed to make sure he hasn’t managed to get himself into mortal danger in the middle of the night. But no, he’s safely sprawled across the bed, mouth wide open as he snores softly. With a shake of her head, Yennefer closes the door behind her and looks out over the parking lot as she calls Sabrina.</p><p>Sabrina is an early riser, so she picks up on the second ring. “I haven’t found anything out, Yenna. Istredd was no help. He hadn’t seen Stregobor in decades and had no idea what the bastard was up to towards the end of his life.”</p><p>“No, he wouldn’t have been.” Poor Istredd has never quite managed to work his way into any inner circles, instead confined to laboring on the outskirts of the empire. All that scraping and scheming when they were younger, for nothing. It’s enough to make Yennefer feel positively smug. “Fringilla has Geralt.”</p><p>She hears Sabrina’s breath hitch. Sabrina has never quite gotten over what happened at Sodden Hill, when Fringilla invaded her mind and turned her against their own people. Mercifully, Sabrina remembers very little of what actually transpired— the knife to Yennefer’s gut, the young boys who died in the explosion she helped cause, the sound of her own spine breaking when she fell. Yennefer gives the other sorceress a moment to compose herself.</p><p>“Are you sure?” Sabrina asks when she’s recovered.</p><p>“The Eternal Fire was a ruse. The mage that killed Queen Kalis attacked us last night and Fringilla visited me in a dream to show her torturing Geralt. It’s Nilfgaard. They’re after Ciri and Calanthe, and they think they can use Geralt to get to them.”</p><p>“What can I do?”</p><p>It’s a question asked without hesitation and Yennefer feels an unexpected surge of affection for the other sorceress. She isn’t as close to Sabrina as she is to Triss and Tissaia; Sabrina has always been so tightly controlled and unemotional that it sometimes feels like conversing with a particularly lovely brick wall. But she also knows that Sabrina is terrified of Fringilla and her mind magic, and she’s still willing to help.</p><p>“Go to Triss and Tissaia,” Yennefer tells her. “Make sure they have everything under control.”</p><p>“What about you?”</p><p>“I need to keep Jaskier away from Fringilla. She wants to use him to force Geralt to talk.”</p><p>“But Geralt doesn’t know anything.”</p><p>“Fringilla doesn’t know that.” Yennefer closes her eyes and leans back against the grimy concrete wall of the motel. “Let me worry about Jaskier and Geralt. You keep Ciri and Calanthe safe.”</p><p>Yennefer is sure that Sabrina wants to argue, but she doesn’t waste their time. “I’ll leave now. Talk to you soon, Yenna.”</p><p>Yennefer hangs up and watches the sun rise over the parking lot for a moment, trying to gather her thoughts. The image of Geralt screaming in pain is still too fresh in her mind. When her phone rings, she’s expecting it to be Sabrina. Instead, it’s Triss.</p><p>“When were you going to tell me that Geralt was taken by Nilfgaard?” Triss demands by way of greeting.</p><p>“That was fast. Already talked to Sabrina?”</p><p>“No, Ciri had a dream last night about Geralt in a hospital room, being tortured.”</p><p>Yennefer winces. “She shouldn’t have seen that.”</p><p>“Tell me everything.”</p><p>Yennefer details the last two days for her, everything from finding what was left of Roach to her conversation with Fringilla the night before. Triss is silent throughout, though Yennefer hears her make a pained noise when Yennefer describes the fight at the convenience store. Triss may be the only other person who knows what coming face to face with the mage who killed Queen Kalis and her daughter means to Yennefer. When Yennefer finishes telling Triss about her dream, Triss is silent for a long moment.</p><p>“You need to come here,” Triss says. “Bring Jaskier. You’ll be safe here.”</p><p>Yennefer shakes her head, even though Triss can’t see her. “It’s too risky. Fringilla is looking for Jaskier. She might be tracking us.”</p><p>“We have precautions in place—”</p><p>“Those precautions won’t do shit if we lead Nilfgaard right to your doorstep.”</p><p>“If she finds you, she will kill you to get to Jaskier, and kill Jaskier to hurt Geralt.”</p><p>“I know that,” Yennefer says through clenched teeth.</p><p>“Then—”</p><p>“I won’t sacrifice Ciri for Jaskier. Or for Geralt. Neither of them would want that.”</p><p>“Then I’ll come to you. I’ll help.”</p><p>“No, you won’t.” Yennefer’s voice comes out an almost Geralt-like growl and she pauses to take a breath. “Sabrina is coming to you. You, Sabrina, and Tissaia need to do whatever you can to secure Ciri and Calanthe.”</p><p>“I’m not just going to sit here while the most powerful sorceress on the Continent is after you, Yennefer, so don’t ask me to.”</p><p>“I’m not asking.”</p><p>“If you’re trying to make me mad so I’ll decide I don’t want to help you after all and go back to drinking my morning tea, you should really know me better than that by now.”</p><p>Yennefer grits her teeth. “Ciri has to be the priority right now. Her life is more valuable than mine, Geralt, and Jaskier’s combined. You know that.”</p><p>Triss is quiet for a moment, before saying begrudgingly, “Yes, I know. That doesn’t mean I like the thought of you going up against Fringilla alone.”</p><p>“I’m not alone.” Yennefer glances behind her, because if anyone but Triss overhears her say this, she’s going to have to dye her hair, change her name, and disappear into the mountains for at least two centuries. “Skinny Jeans has proven shockingly resourceful.”</p><p>“See, I told you! The man talked his way out of being devoured by a striga. He has a spine of steel.”</p><p>“I wouldn’t go that far. At best, it’s very sturdy plastic.”</p><p>“Yenna, you know you can admit it when you like people, right? Friendship isn’t a human weakness.”</p><p>“If you say so.”</p><p>Triss sighs. “How is he holding up?”</p><p>“Better than expected,” Yennefer says softly. “Scared. Talking too much to try and cover it up.”</p><p>“What are you going to do?”</p><p>“Keep moving until I think of a better plan. Hope I stay one step ahead of Fringilla. I’ve thought about taking Jaskier to Aretuza, but Fringilla’s a Brotherhood sorceress. She’d be able to get through the wards without an issue.”</p><p>“Running and hiding isn’t a plan.”</p><p>“It’s what I have to work with.”</p><p>“Yenna, you should know that when Ciri was dreaming about Geralt last night, she said there was something wrong with him,” Triss says quietly.</p><p>“I’d say. He’s being tortured.”</p><p>“Ciri thinks that whatever Fringilla is doing to Geralt, it’s changing him somehow.” Triss hesitates. “She thinks he’s dying.”</p><p>Yennefer isn’t surprised, but she still feels the twist of horror.  After everything that Geralt has suffered in the last five hundred years, the idea that this may be how he dies, tortured to death by a power-hungry sorceress, is stomach-churning. “Fringilla told me that whatever they’re doing, we only have a day or two before it’s permanent.”</p><p>Triss mutters a curse. “You think he’s being held in the City of the Golden Towers?”</p><p>“Most likely. Fringilla likes keeping her projects close to home.”</p><p>“We’ll get him back.”</p><p>“How?” Yennefer’s voice comes out harsher than she intends. Geralt is dying somewhere, and she’s standing outside a shitty roadside motel, playing babysitter.</p><p>“I don’t know,” Triss admits. “But this isn’t how Geralt of Rivia dies. Not after everything.”</p><p>Yennefer scoffs. “How are you still a romantic at your age?”</p><p>“I’m not that much older than you!” Triss laughs, but it’s a hollow sound.</p><p>“Keep an eye on Ciri,” Yennefer says. “I wouldn’t put it past that child to try and trade herself for Geralt.”</p><p>“Don’t worry, someone’s in the room with her at all times today,” Triss says. “Be careful, Yenna.”</p><p>There are words hanging between them, the same words that have been hanging between them for a long time now. At least decades, if not longer. Yennefer can feel them on the tip of her tongue. <em>“You are my oldest and dearest friend, and more. Your life matters to me more than anything. Do not let yourself get hurt. Do not come anywhere near the danger. Stay where it’s safe.”</em> She could say all the things that she knows Triss has been waiting for, and irrevocably change their relationship.</p><p>But that path holds only disappointment and heartbreak for both of them, so Yennefer says, “You too, Triss,” and hangs up. She takes a deep breath and heads back into the motel room.</p><p>Jaskier is sitting up in bed, watching Yennefer with bleary eyes. “Everything okay?”</p><p>“I was just talking to Triss,” Yennefer says stiffly, remembering all the personal things she divulged to him the night before. Why had she thought it a good idea to show her soft underbelly like that? All she’s done is given him tools to use against her.</p><p>“How is she?” Jaskier asks.</p><p>“Worried. But she’s with Ciri and Calanthe, keeping them safe.”</p><p>“Good.” He eyes her and she realizes that he looks as wary as she feels. “Sleep okay?”</p><p>“As well as I could with your snoring.”</p><p>His lips quirk. “And here I thought we were friends now, Yennefer.”</p><p>“What would give you that idea?” Yennefer should tell him about her visit from Fringilla and Ciri’s revelation about Geralt, but she finds she can’t say the words “Geralt may be dying” to him. She doesn’t want to see the look on his face. He’s been taking everything so well and she doesn’t want to see the moment he falls apart.</p><p>His grief and panic would just slow them down, she tells herself. They don’t have that kind of time.</p><p>“Get dressed,” she tells him. “We need to keep moving.”</p><p>***</p><p>Triss sets down her phone and utters several choice words that she’s only uttered a handful of times in her centuries of existence.</p><p>“How is Yennefer?” Calanthe asks from the doorway.</p><p>It’s a credit to centuries of living with Yennefer and Tissaia, who both love appearing out of nowhere and startling the shit out of her (almost always when she has a hot cup of tea in hand) that Triss doesn’t flinch. “Stubborn, pigheaded, and impossible.”</p><p>“That describes most of the people in this house.”</p><p>She’s not wrong. “We’re under strict instructions to hunker down and stay put. Meanwhile, Fringilla is torturing Geralt and sending an assassin to chase Yennefer and Jaskier across the Continent.”</p><p>Calanthe sucks in a breath at Jaskier’s name. “I’m not very good at staying cooped up like a princess in a tower. Especially not when someone I care about is in danger.”</p><p>“You and Ciri are in danger,” Triss reminds her. This is what she’s good at: being the reasonable one. Letting cooler heads prevail. Smiling and soothing over hurt feelings.</p><p>Just once, she would dearly like to pull a Yennefer and let her chaos explode.</p><p>Not today, though. “Yennefer is right,” she tells Calanthe. “We shouldn’t leave the farm. That doesn’t mean we can’t call in reinforcements.”</p><p>“Oh?” Calanthe raises an eyebrow. “Have someone in mind?”</p><p>“Several someones actually.”</p><p>From downstairs, Eist calls that breakfast is ready.</p><p>“You go ahead,” Triss tells Calanthe. “I have to make a few calls. But tell Ciri if she eats all the bacon again, I’m going to make her do an extra hour of lessons this afternoon.”</p><p>Calanthe snorts with laughter, though there’s still a tightness around her eyes. Triss waits until she heads downstairs before picking up her phone and calling a number she hasn’t called in quite a few years. She hopes it’s still the right number.</p><p>“Hello?” The voice on the other end is warm and gruff.</p><p>Despite her horror and fear, Triss finds herself smiling. “Eskel. It’s Triss Merigold.”</p><p>***</p><p>Jaskier and Yennefer still don’t have a plan.</p><p>“The plan is not to get caught,” Yennefer tells Jaskier when he asks, and that’s a reasonable goal. Jaskier very much does not want to get captured by Nilfgaard and tortured to death. He would just really like it for them to have a goal beyond that, but Yennefer gets snarly whenever he says anything.</p><p>The thing is that Jaskier doesn’t normally object to flying by the seat of his pants. He’s never been one for planning ahead. But it’s one thing to be spontaneous while grocery shopping and another thing entirely when Geralt’s life hangs in the balance. The longer they go without a concrete plan for how to get Geralt back, the more Jaskier finds himself struggling to hold himself together. He’s terrified. He’s been terrified for three days now (and how the fuck has it only been three days since Geralt disappeared?) but that fear is getting harder to push to the side.</p><p>“There has to be someone who knows something,” he says. “Someone who can help us get into Nilfgaard.”</p><p>“There are no traitors in the Nilfgaardian court. Every kingdom on the Continent tried to infiltrate it, back in the day. When your court mage has powerful mind magic, lying becomes impossible.”</p><p>Jaskier grits his teeth. He knows Yennefer isn’t shooting down all his suggestions just to be difficult, but damn if it doesn’t feel like it right now. Last night, he thought he and Yennefer were making progress. Maybe even on their way to becoming friends, what with the heart to heart and the sharing of tragic pasts. But today, Yennefer is as cold and remote as ever. He has a feeling that bringing up last night’s conversation would get his throat torn out.</p><p>“Fringilla can’t be invincible,” he says. “No one is.”</p><p>“Of course not, but she’s damn close. Nilfgaard didn’t conquer the Continent by luck, Jaskier.”</p><p>Jaskier tightens his grip on the steering wheel. “What about Triss? Sabrina? Tissaia? One of them has to—”</p><p>“They’re not leaving Ciri’s side, Jaskier. Protecting her is a priority.”</p><p>“Of course it is.” Gods, what Jaskier wouldn’t do to see Ciri right now. Or Calanthe. “But isn’t there anyone else who can help? You’re half a millennium old, Yennefer. You have to have more than three friends.”</p><p>“I have four friends,” she says and Jaskier softens for a moment before she adds, “You forgot Geralt.”</p><p>And doesn’t that just cut Jaskier back down to size?</p><p>Yennefer frowns out the window. “We’re almost to Brugge.”</p><p>“We are.”</p><p>“We’re going south.”</p><p>“Well spotted.”</p><p>“Please do not tell me,” she says, voice so cold that he half-expects frost to start spreading over the windows. “That when I told you to drive anywhere, you decided to drive directly towards Nilfgaard.”</p><p>“I did not decide to drive directly towards Nilfgaard.” Jaskier doesn’t even try to make it a convincing lie. He’s so used to living with someone who can hear deception in his heartbeat that he’s gotten out of practice.</p><p>“Turn around,” she hisses.</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“I could make you turn around.”</p><p>“You don’t know how to drive. You’d probably crash the car and then where would we be?”</p><p>Yennefer scowls at him. “What do you think you’re going to accomplish?”</p><p>“I have no idea!” Jaskier’s voice grows a bit hysterical. “I don’t have a plan, but neither do you! Give me another idea, and I’ll turn this car around.”</p><p>“So what are you going to do? Wrap yourself up in a pretty bow and hand deliver yourself to Fringilla?”</p><p>“If that’s what it takes to save Geralt, yes.”</p><p>“Don’t be stupid,” Yennefer says with a snarl. “Do you really think Fringilla will take you captive and let Geralt go free? He’s too powerful of an enemy to let live.”</p><p>“If I can just get to him—”</p><p>“He’s already dying, Jaskier. I won’t let him go to the grave knowing that he’s taken you down with him.”</p><p>Jaskier sees the moment that Yennefer realizes what she said, before her face smooths over into impassivity. “What do you mean, he’s already dying?”</p><p>“He’s been Nilfgaard’s captive for three days. There’s a good chance—”</p><p>“You know something.” Jaskier guides his car to the side of the road and parks.</p><p>“What are you doing?” she demands.</p><p>He turns to face her. “I don’t want to have this conversation while driving. Tell me what you know, and I’ll keep going.”</p><p>“We don’t have time for this.”</p><p>“When it comes to Geralt, you don’t get to tell me what we have time for,” he says.</p><p>Yennefer closes her eyes. “Fringilla contacted me in a dream last night.”</p><p>“What did she say?”</p><p>“The expected. Threats. Ultimatums. Petty insults. She’s very interested in meeting you.”</p><p>He shudders. “I’m afraid I have to politely decline.”</p><p>“She showed me what’s happening to Geralt.”</p><p>The silence in the car is oppressive. Jaskier knows he doesn’t want to know more. If Geralt was fine, Yennefer would have already said. But he can’t stop himself from asking, “What’s happening to Geralt?”</p><p>“He’s being magically tortured. He was strapped to a bed and screaming. I’ve known Geralt for a long time. I’ve never seen him scream like that.”</p><p>Jaskier’s grip tightens on the steering wheel until it hurts.</p><p>“Fringilla told me that whatever she’s doing to him, there will be lasting damage within a day or two.”</p><p>“But what kind of damage?” Jaskier demands. “Like, scars? Because he has plenty of those. He doesn’t care.”</p><p>“I’m not sure,” Yennefer says, her voice perfectly even. “I think whatever they’re doing, it’s killing him. Or at least, killing a part of him.”</p><p>This is impossible, because Geralt can’t die. Jaskier can’t live without him. “You weren’t going to tell me about this, were you?” Being angry at Yennefer is so much easier than being terrified for Geralt.</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Why the fuck not?”</p><p>“Because I don’t know what to do about it yet, so there’s no point in talking about it! And I knew you were going to get hysterical, and there isn’t time.”</p><p>Jaskier really doesn’t like shouting. It’s bad for his vocal cords. Right now, he doesn’t give a fuck. “Hysterical? The man I love is being tortured to death and you’re worried about me being hysterical?”</p><p>To her credit, she looks ashamed of herself. “I—”</p><p>“Yes, Yennefer, I have a lot of feelings. Possibly more than the average person. But some of us don’t have five fucking centuries to deal with our feelings. Some of us have to deal with it in the here and now.” The car is too hot and the seatbelt across his chest feels too tight. “I need to get out of this car.”</p><p>Yennefer calls after him as he shoves his way out of the car and stalks away. There’s a scraggly little stretch of woods along the side of the road. It’s too sparse for anything truly dangerous to be living there, so he takes two steps past the treeline and sinks to his knees. The ground is soft and damp; cold wetness soaks through the knees of his jeans. There’s a tiny rock digging into his palms. He tries to focus on those small discomforts instead of the terror crushing him.</p><p>Jaskier can’t get enough breath in his lungs. His shoulders heave with the effort to suck in air. The cars driving by are too loud and the sun is too hot and the scents of gasoline and hot asphalt are too strong and everything is just too damn much. Geralt is dying. Geralt is screaming in pain somewhere and Jaskier can’t do anything to help him. Because Jaskier isn’t a witcher or a mage or anything special. He’s just an ordinary, helpless human who got it into his head that he was worthy of loving a witcher.</p><p>Geralt has saved Jaskier’s life so many times over and now that it’s Geralt’s life that needs saving, all Jaskier can do is kneel on the side of the road and cry.</p><p>Jaskier puts his face in his hands and lets himself fall apart.</p><p>***</p><p>Yennefer gives Jaskier ten minutes to collect himself before she follows him. The boy doesn’t seem like the type to hold onto emotions for long— he’ll be angry for a few minutes and then he’ll be back to his obnoxious self and they can be on their way. So when she finds him kneeling on the ground, weeping into his hands, she freezes. She expected Jaskier to be a noisy crier, but his shoulders shake with near-silent sobs. He doesn’t look up as she approaches him. His breath is coming out in sharp wheezes.</p><p>She hovers nearby, unsure of what to do, or if there's even anything she can do to help. She caused this anguish. There’s no kind way to tell someone that their lover might be dying, might even be dead by now, but she could have at least tried not to be cruel about it. And as much as she would like to magic this problem away, there’s nothing to be done but kneel down in front of him.</p><p>“Breathe,” she tells him.</p><p>He glares up at her with red-rimmed eyes, the silent <em>“What the fuck do you think I’m trying to do right now?”</em> clear in his expression.</p><p>Yennefer tries again. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that to you. You’re not being hysterical. You’ve kept your head about you the last few days better than most people would. I’m… not good at this kind of thing.”</p><p>That earns her a hoarse laugh. She isn’t sure what else to say, so she sits down and waits for his breathing to return to normal and for him to stop shaking. When he finally speaks, his voice is thin with anguish.</p><p>“I know you think I’m just a silly blogger who saw a witcher and thought ‘ooh, pretty.’  But I love Geralt. He’s not just some adventure to me. He’s my entire world. There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do to keep him safe, but I don’t know what to do right now.”</p><p>“Neither do I.”</p><p>“I don’t know what I’ll do if we don’t get him back. I can’t imagine a world without him in it. And I know what he does for a living. I know it’s dangerous. But there’s a difference between him getting killed by a striga in battle and him being tortured. It’s just a bullshit way for him to die. After five hundred years. After everything he’s been through. It’s such <em>bullshit</em>.”</p><p>Yennefer doesn’t say anything, watching him carefully. She can’t deny that he’s right; she’s always seen him as a silly boy chasing after an adventure, like most young people do before they realize that adventure almost always comes with a side of heartbreak. Geralt is a good man, one of the best she knows, but he’s also old, jaded, and difficult to live with. She’s never truly believed that Jaskier would stick around for more than a couple of years. She was already dreading the devastation the kid would leave in his wake once he realized that a moderately popular blog was the extent of the fame and fortune he would get from traveling with a witcher.</p><p>But kneeling before her isn’t an ambitious blogger upset over the loss of his meal ticket. Jaskier is a man devastated over the thought that he might not see the love of his life again.</p><p>“Did Geralt ever tell you how we met?” Yennefer asks him gently.</p><p>“No, can’t say it ever came up.”</p><p>She settles back against the tree she’s leaning against. “Ever been to Rinde?”</p><p>A small smile flickers across Jaskier’s face. “Yeah, there was a graveir there once. Total shithole. But that was the night Geralt kissed me for the first time.”</p><p>“After I left the Brotherhood, I set up shop there. There were a lot of anti-magic sentiments in the area and the mayor had put harsh restrictions on mages. I enjoyed flouting them.”</p><p>“No,” he says flatly. “That doesn’t sound like you at all.”</p><p>Yennefer snorts. “I was hosting a magical orgy in the mayor’s own house.”</p><p>Jaskier cocks an eyebrow. “As one does.”</p><p>“They were quite popular back then. I could charge an arm and a leg for admission. It was a more repressed time and people loved having the excuse of ‘magic made me do it’ when they got caught with their pants down with their next door neighbor and his wife.”</p><p>“And Geralt was there? Did he not realize that orgies mean interacting with multiple people? Occasionally at the same time?” To her relief, some of the panic is receding from his blue eyes.</p><p>“Oh, he wasn’t there to partake. There was some beastie or another in town. I honestly don’t remember what it was. He sought my help. He walked right through a room of writhing naked people, came right up to me, and started talking business. I honestly don’t think he even noticed all the tits and cocks waving about. He had a job to do, and that was that.”</p><p>“That sounds more like my Geralt,” Jaskier says.</p><p>“Most men who meet me either think I'm a bitch who needs to be cut down to size or that I’m a lost little girl who just needs the right man to help me find my soft gooey center. Geralt treated me as an equal. He knew how strong I was, and he wasn’t intimidated by it. He didn’t ever try to turn me into a damsel in need of rescuing or a trophy to reward himself with after a job well done. And I loved him for that.”</p><p>For once, the musician’s expression is inscrutable. “But you didn’t work out.”</p><p>“No, we didn’t.” Yennefer shrugs. “Sometimes, love isn’t enough. Geralt has never gotten over what he had to do to Renfri and I think he always felt a sliver of fear that I would grow too power hungry someday and he would have to do the same to me. And as for me, well, I’m me. Neither of us were good with our emotions or at letting people in. We tried for many years, but we could never make it work.”</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Jaskier says. “Well, I guess not really, since if you made it work, I wouldn’t be with Geralt.”</p><p>“I appreciate your honesty,” she says dryly. “Even when we weren’t lovers, we were always friends. When our relationship finally ended, we both said some awful things. I hadn’t seen him for a century when you showed up at Aretuza with him last year. My greatest regret is that century we were both too stupid and too stubborn to reach out to each other. That’s not how you treat a friend.”</p><p>“You still have time to make it up to each other,” Jaskier says, though it rings hollow.</p><p>Yennefer takes a deep breath. “I haven’t been fair to you, Jaskier. I’m sorry.”</p><p>There’s an awkward pause, broken by Jaskier, of course. “Oh, go on. You seem like you’re working yourself up to a proper apology. Who am I to stop you?”</p><p>“I didn’t know how much you loved him,” Yennefer says. “I worried that you were just using him for the novelty and once that had worn off, you would be gone.”</p><p>A smile flickers across Jaskier’s face. “Well, I haven’t always been fair to you either. Definitely not because I’m intimidated. That would be absurd.”</p><p>She snorts and rises to her feet, then reaches down to help him to his. </p><p>“Does this mean our heart to heart is over?” Jaskier asks.</p><p>“Yes.” Yennefer hesitates. “We can keep driving south. But storming Nilfgaard isn’t the way to do this. It would end badly for all of us, including Geralt.”</p><p>“I know. I just want to be closer to him.” He shrugs, looking sheepish. “I know it doesn’t make any sense.”</p><p>“It doesn’t,” she says. “But it doesn’t need to. Come on, we should—”</p><p>“Keep moving. I know.” But there’s no heat to his voice. He just sounds tired.</p><p>“Are you okay to drive?” Yennefer asks.</p><p>His reply is cut off by the crunch of metal behind them. Jaskier’s face falls. Yennefer knows what she’s going to see before she turns around. There’s a krallach standing on top of Jaskier’s little blue car, crushing the hood. A second krallach crouches in front of the car, with the mage next to it. The mage’s eyes meet Yennefer’s and his lips twist into a smug smile.</p><p>“There are two of them,” Jaskier whispers.</p><p>“I can see that.”</p><p>“They’ve gotten bigger.”</p><p>“I can see that too.”</p><p>“What do we do?”</p><p>Yennefer looks between Jaskier, the mage, and the two krallachs and does the only thing she can think of. She opens up a portal and drags Jaskier through it.</p><p>***</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Sorry if this felt like a bit of a filler chapter. I wanted Jaskier and Yennefer to have more time to talk about their feelings before the shit hit the fan. </p><p>Starting next week, updates will be on Thursdays. So you won’t have to wait an entire week just to see how Jaskier and Yennefer get out of this one (or don’t get out of this one. We’ll see.)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Of Princesses and Portals</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>As Yennefer and Jaskier flee from the assassin pursuing them, Yennefer has to make a terrible choice.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Please see the end notes for content warnings regarding discussion of suicide.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The portal spits them out into the middle of a busy sidewalk, startling a man so badly that he spills his coffee all over himself. The man curses at them colorfully as he keeps walking, but Jaskier doesn’t even have the energy to curse back at him. He leans against a storefront, trying to get his legs to stop trembling. The residual shakiness from his panic attack has been replaced by a newer, fresher wave of terror.</p><p>“Where are we?” he manages to ask.</p><p>“New Cintra.” Yennefer checks over her shoulder, scanning the crowds of people around them.</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>“Second largest city on the Continent. Lots of witnesses. He might not follow us here.”</p><p>“You really think witnesses will stop him?” Jaskier asks.</p><p>“No.” She grabs him by the wrist. “Come on.”</p><p>Yennefer drags him into the nearest shop, a fancy little clothing boutique. “You need new clothes. Yours are too obvious.”</p><p>Jaskier looks down at his outfit, an almost sedate fuschia shirt and jeans, and then Yennefer’s floor-length navy dress, and decides not to comment. He grabs a beige v-neck off the rack, even though he’s never worn anything beige a day in his life. When he comes out of the dressing room, Yennefer is already in a pair of jeans and a plain white blouse, with her hair pulled back in a ponytail and a floppy hat pulled down low over her face. He wants to make some kind of snippy comment about the hat, but he can’t think of anything beyond his fear. </p><p>Because he can see the dread in Yennefer’s eyes and if Yennefer of fucking Vengerberg is scared, then Jaskier knows he should be terrified.</p><p>“We need to go. He’ll be able to track my portal.” Yennefer jerks her head towards the door.</p><p>As Jaskier follows her, he hears the woman behind the counter call, “Excuse me, you can’t just—”</p><p>Yennefer jerks her wrist and the woman falls silent. When Jaskier glances over his shoulder, he sees that the woman is staring into space with a vacant expression, like he’s seen when Geralt uses Axii on people. He feels a surge of guilt, but there’s no time to insist they stop to pay for their new clothes before Yennefer drags him out of the shop. Anyway, using his credit card seems like a bad idea right now.</p><p>They keep their heads down as they hurry down the sidewalk. Jaskier expects to see a krallach lurking on the other side of every shop window or lurking in every alleyway they pass. Whenever a tall, dark-haired man passes them, he can’t stop himself from flinching.</p><p>“What are we going to do?” he asks Yennefer as they cross the street, milling among a crowd of other pedestrians. “And I’m warning you now, if you say ‘I don’t know,’ I may just collapse right here in this crosswalk.”</p><p>“Your car is probably totaled,” she says in a low voice. “Going back for it is a bad idea. I need to conserve my energy as much as possible. So for now, we keep moving.”</p><p>“That was a lot of words to say ‘I don’t know.’”</p><p>“If you collapse in the middle of the street, I’m leaving you here.”</p><p>Jaskier opens his mouth to say something biting, and then he hears screams behind them. He doesn’t turn to look. He knows exactly what he’ll see. He grabs Yennefer by the arm and runs. They race down the sidewalk, dodging around other pedestrians, and into the closest subway station. Jaskier is ready to jump the turnstile, but Yennefer beats him to the punch by obliterating it with a flick of her fingers.</p><p>“Have you ever heard of subtlety?” Jaskier shrieks at her as they dash towards the waiting train.</p><p>“There’s a time and a place. This isn’t it.”</p><p>Jaskier hears more screams and despite his best efforts, he finds himself looking over his shoulder. The two krallachs skitter down the stairs of the subway station, knocking every person who is too slow to get out of their way aside. And at the top of the stairs, the assassin stands. He watches Jaskier and Yennefer run with a faintly amused expression, like they’re a pair of adorable puppies romping in the snow. They stumble onto the train, breathing heavily, and Jaskier sags against a pole.</p><p>The doors don’t close and the train doesn’t move. The krallachs are still coming. The train car is filled with the sounds of people panicking.</p><p>“Fuck,” Jaskier whispers. “Yenn.”</p><p>Yennefer positions herself in front of Jaskier, hands filling with fire. The krallachs are coming closer.</p><p>“Yennefer!” Jaskier’s voice goes high-pitched with terror.</p><p>One of the krallachs leaps into the air, its scythe-like front legs extended. Jaskier wants to close his eyes, but he can’t move. The train doors slide shut and the krallach slams into them with a metallic crunch, leaving a massive dent in the doors. Several people scream. As the train lurches into motion, there’s a shriek and yellow blood splatters the windows. A woman faints and Jaskier sinks into the nearest seat, his legs suddenly boneless.</p><p>Yennefer turns to face him, her terror from earlier replaced by steely resolve. She opens up a portal and yanks them through. They reappear inside a bustling shopping mall.</p><p>“You couldn’t have done that thirty seconds before?” Jaskier demands.</p><p>“I wanted to wait until the train was moving. It makes the portal harder to track.”</p><p>People start screaming. They look around to see the surviving krallach tearing through a display of mannequins in the store across from them.</p><p>“You were saying?” Jaskier asks.</p><p>Yennefer pulls him through another portal.</p><p>They reappear in the middle of a forest. Without saying a word, Yennefer yanks Jaskier’s watch off and hurls it into the bushes.</p><p>“What the fuck are you doing?” Jaskier demands.</p><p>“He’s tracking us, not the portal.” She yanks her own earrings out. “There’s no way he could have tracked that portal that fast. What else of yours could he be tracking?”</p><p>“I don’t know!”</p><p>“Your phone. Get rid of your phone.”</p><p>“I can’t get rid of my phone, Yennefer. What if the catsitter—”</p><p>“The catsitter will be fine!” She yanks his phone out of his pocket and hurls it against a tree. He winces at the sound of the screen crunching. Her own cell phone gets the same treatment a moment later. Jaskier is about to yell at her, but the very motion of throwing the two cell phones seems to have pushed her over the line into exhaustion. She stumbles and Jaskier catches her by the shoulders to keep her on her feet.</p><p>“Come on, you should sit for a few minutes,” he says.</p><p>“No time.”</p><p>There’s a chittering sound and Jaskier looks up to see the krallach standing there, the mage next to it.</p><p>“Oh, fuck,” he says. “Yenn, do you have another portal in you?”</p><p>“One of us might lose a limb,” she says.</p><p>“I think we might lose a limb either way. Unless you think another train is going to come along and run this one over?”</p><p>With a snarl, the krallach lunges. Jaskier opens his mouth to scream, just as Yennefer yanks him through a portal. There’s a dizzying jolt, and then he’s falling, landing in a body of ice cold water.</p><p>***</p><p>Yennefer is cold and she’s floating. Or maybe sinking. It doesn’t matter. Everything is dark and frigid around her and she’s vaguely aware of the fact that she should be concerned about this, but she doesn’t have the energy.</p><p>An arm wraps around her waist and then she’s yanked into the harsh sunlight and someone is shouting her name in her ear.</p><p>“Fucking gods, Yennefer, I am not giving you mouth to mouth!”</p><p>She’s being dragged through the water and someone is breathing heavily in her ear. The world goes dark and the next thing she knows, she’s lying in the sand with Jaskier’s terrified face hovering over her. She turns over and vomits up what seems like a small ocean’s worth of salt water. She wonders if Jaskier actually had to give her mouth to mouth, and decides that she really doesn’t want to know the answer to that question.</p><p>“Yenn, come on.” As soon as she’s dome vomiting, he drags her to her feet. “Come on, please.”</p><p>Yennefer blinks and looks around, trying to clear her head. She had no set destination in mind when she portaled them away, but she realizes that they’re on the same beach where she buried the little Lyrian princess. She wonders if there are still tiny bones buried under centuries’ worth of sand. They’ve probably turned to sand by now. The area around the beach has been built up and two joggers, both with strollers, are staring at them from the boardwalk.</p><p>“Everything’s fine!” Jaskier calls to them brightly. “My friend just got a cramp while swimming!”</p><p>Both women jog away quickly, apparently deciding that it’s best not to ask.</p><p>“Fuck,” Jaskier groans as he leads Yennefer under the boardwalk and sets her down against one of the wooden beams supporting the boardwalk. “Do you think he followed us?”</p><p>“If he does, we’re dead,” Yennefer says. “I can’t fight him like this.”</p><p>“But the phones—”</p><p>“Even if that’s how he was tracking us before, he won’t need them to track the portal that brought us here. I didn’t have the time to cover it up.”</p><p>His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “How long until you’re recharged?”</p><p>“A few hours. I just need to rest.”</p><p>“Is there anything I can do?”</p><p>She closes her eyes. “Do you have some magical ability that you haven’t revealed yet? That would be convenient.”</p><p>“No, and if I did, I would wait til a much more dramatic moment than this to reveal it.” His voice is shaky, but she can hear the smile in it. “This is it, isn’t it?”</p><p>She nods. “Probably.”</p><p>“If I die and you make it out…”</p><p>Yennefer opens her eyes to glare at him. “If you seriously think there’s any way someone is getting to you without having to tear through me first, I take back all those things I was thinking earlier about being pleasantly surprised by your intelligence.”</p><p>Jaskier falls silent. To her horror, he looks like he might cry.</p><p>“I will feed you to the krallach if you cry,” she snarls.</p><p>“Nope.” He shakes his head. “You can’t say the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me and then threaten to kill me five seconds later. Doesn’t work like that.”</p><p>“Watch me.”</p><p>There’s the sound of a portal opening and Jaskier makes a small, scared noise. Yennefer really doesn’t want to look, but she turns to see the mage and the krallach standing in the sunlight, the sea blue and glittering behind them and seagulls circling overhead. The mage is holding a long, curved dagger in his hand and wearing that same unbearably smug expression. For once, Yennefer can’t blame him. Here she is, weak as a kitten, and there’s nothing standing in between him and his prey. </p><p>She hears Queen Kalis’ voice echoing in her memories. <em>“Get up, you useless witch.”</em></p><p>Yennefer tries to stand, but Jaskier holds out a hand to stop her.</p><p>“You’ll just tire yourself out,” he says softly.</p><p>“What’s the alternative?” She refuses to die sitting in the sand, soaking wet and shivering.</p><p>Jaskier faces the mage, placing himself between Yennefer and their attackers. “You can leave her alive. She’s no threat to you right now.”</p><p>Yennefer doesn’t know whether to be touched or offended. She opts for a bit of both.</p><p>“Jaskier, move,” she hisses. If the assassin throws that knife, she doesn’t want Jaskier in front of her.</p><p>Jaskier doesn’t budge. “If you want me, you can have me. Just leave Yennefer.”</p><p>He and Geralt are made for each other. Yennefer is going to kill him if they survive this.</p><p>“Look at her. She can’t stop you from taking me and she’s too weak to come after us. She doesn’t have to die. Please.”</p><p>The assassin is eyeing Yennefer, like he’s trying to figure out how to throw the knife at her without hitting Jaskier. Jaskier shifts over to completely block her from view. Her fingers twitch. She might have enough magic to blast him out of the way, but that would only delay the inevitable. The idiot isn’t going to do the smart thing and flee while the assassin is busy killing Yennefer. He’s going to stay and try to be the hero, and then get captured, or maybe even killed.</p><p>For an instant, she wonders if the kindest thing would be to use her last reserves of magic to take them both out in a fireball. It would be quick, and a pile of ashes can’t be tortured for information or used as a bargaining chip against Geralt. Maybe she could even take out the assassin and his pet with them. But she can’t make that decision for Jaskier. Plus, she doesn’t think she even has enough magic for a fireball. More than likely, they’d both end up with minor sunburns.</p><p>Jaskier turns to look at her again, like he’s still holding out hope that she’ll make a full recovery and be battle-ready any second now. When he sees her still crumpled in the sand, his jaw tenses.</p><p>“Jaskier,” she rasps.</p><p><em>“Don’t do something stupid,”</em> she wants to say. <em>“Don’t get yourself killed. Don’t make me have to tell Geralt that you died trying to save my life. Just don’t.”</em></p><p>If Jaskier has any idea what she’s going to say, he ignores her. Instead, he turns and lunges at the assassin.</p><p>***</p><p>“The most important part of fighting is knowing when you can’t win,” Geralt told Jaskier at the end of one of their earliest sparring lessons. “You need to assess your opponents, the weapons at your disposal, and your own capabilities. If you can’t beat them, you need to find a way out.”</p><p>Jaskier, who was curled up on the ground, too sore to even lift his head, laughed. “So what you’re saying is that I should always run?”</p><p>“Not always.” Geralt stopped to consider. “Well, right now, you should. But you’ll get to a point where you’ll stand a chance against some of your opponents. Maybe.”</p><p>“Gee, thanks.”</p><p>“Keep your knives on you at all times. Don’t let anyone back you into a corner. And if you can’t run and it’s not a fight you can win, just wait for me.” Geralt reached down to help Jaskier to his feet, not even bothering to hide his amusement when Jaskier whined pitifully in protest. “All you have to do is stay alive until I can get to you.”</p><p>Jaskier’s knives are back in his crushed car. He’s facing down a powerful, blade-wielding mage with a toothy monster sidekick. Yennefer is weakened and Geralt is a captive somewhere in Nilfgaard. Even as he runs at the assassin, he knows this isn’t a fight he can win. Best case scenario, he gets taken to Nilfgaard, and maybe he’ll be able to figure out a way to get him and Geralt out alive. Worst case, he and Yennefer both die here, leaving Geralt to perish alone in the City of the Golden Towers.</p><p>The mage draws back his knife, like he’s going to hurl it at Yennefer. He’s not even looking at Jaskier. As far as he’s concerned, Jaskier isn’t a threat. Jaskier slams into him with all his strength and is gratified when the mage grunts as all the air rushes out of his lungs. Jaskier grabs the hand holding the knife and twists, gratified by the little pop of one of the mage’s fingers dislocating. The knife falls to the sand and Jaskier kicks it away. The mage snarls in his face and Jaskier punches him. Cartilage crunches under his fist. He’s taller than the mage, and broader too. Up close, the man isn’t so imposing. If this were just a physical fight, Jaskier might win.</p><p>But the mage has more impressive weapons at his disposal than fists. He lifts his hands and Jaskier is thrown backwards, skidding through the sand. He lands hard on the ground in front of Yennefer, choking on mouthfuls of sand.</p><p>“Jaskier, run!” Yennefer screams, just as the mage descends on Jaskier.</p><p>The assassin’s nose is bleeding and he no longer looks smug and amused; his features are twisted in fury. He crosses the distance between them in two strides and kneels down to drive a knee into Jaskier’s chest, pinning him to the ground. His hands lock around Jaskier’s throat. Jaskier gasps as unforgiving fingers press into his windpipe, cutting off his airflow.</p><p>“Stop!” Yennefer lunges for the mage. “Fringilla wants him alive!”</p><p>The mage backhands her and she falls back.</p><p>White hot rage surges through Jaskier. The krallach is speeding through the sand, right towards Yennefer, and fuck no, this isn’t happening. Yennefer isn’t dying for him, not when they finally just started to like each other. Not when, of the two of them, she’s far more likely to be able to save Geralt and protect Ciri and Calanthe. He seizes the mage by the shoulders, braces his legs against the ground, and shoves with all of his might.</p><p>The mage rolls off of him and right into the krallach’s path. One of the krallach’s razor-sharp front legs pierces the man through the chest. The mage gives a surprised little cough, blood blooming on his lips. Yennefer reaches out and puts a hand on his arm.</p><p>“What are you doing?” Jaskier asks hoarsely. Fuck, his throat hurts.</p><p>“Siphoning his magic.” Her eyes are locked on the krallach, who seems stunned by its master’s death. It rips away from the dying mage with a horrible squelch and shakes itself like a dog getting out of the bath. And then it turns on Jaskier. It has no master to stop it from aiming to kill this time. Terrified, Jaskier scrambles backwards in the sand, reaching out desperately for a weapon that’s not there. The krallach lets out a hideous shriek as it lunges.</p><p>And then it’s squashed in the sand, like a giant foot just stepped on it. Luckily, all the blood splatters out of the range of Jaskier’s clothes. Not that he’s ever going to be able to get the sand out of these jeans.</p><p>Jaskier glances over at Yennefer. “Thank fuck. Are you okay?”</p><p>“I’m fine.” She shoves the assassin away. “He’s not.”</p><p>The assassin is very dead, eyes staring up at the sky.</p><p>“How much magic did you get from him?” Jaskier asks.</p><p>“Not enough.” Shakily, she rises to her feet.</p><p>“Shouldn’t you rest for longer?” Jaskier takes stock of her ashen skin and trembling hands.</p><p>“No time.”</p><p>“If you tire yourself out any more than you already have—”</p><p>“Jaskier. We need to go.” Yennefer isn’t looking at him; her gaze is focused over his shoulder.</p><p>Jaskier doesn’t want to look. He really doesn’t. But his head and neck move without his brain’s cooperation, swiveling to look behind him. There’s a woman in a long gray dress striding towards them. She’s gorgeous and ridiculously imposing, like all sorceresses. Jaskier has seen images of her on the nightly news and on the front pages of newspapers, but he didn’t think he would ever see her in person.</p><p>“Yenna,” Fringilla Vigo calls. “I’m afraid that job offer is off the table.”</p><p>“I’d sooner work for Stregobor’s decaying corpse.” Yennefer seizes Jaskier by the arm and drags him to his feet.</p><p>Jaskier stumbles backwards, feet slipping in the sand. “Do you have enough power to fight her?”</p><p>“No. Run.”</p><p>That’s all the encouragement Jaskier needs. He turns and flees, dragging Yennefer with him. They race across the sand, stumbling and holding each other up. Jaskier glances over his shoulder and sees Fringilla strolling after them. Her pace is that of a woman on an afternoon walk, not a sorceress hunting her prey.</p><p>This is the woman who made Geralt scream. The thought makes Jaskier want to turn around and do to her what he just did to the assassin.</p><p>“Can you portal us away?” Jaskier asks, panting. He’s not built for this much cardio.</p><p>“No point.” Yennefer’s breathing is equally labored, which is gratifying. “She’ll have no trouble tracking us.”</p><p>“Then what are we going to do?”</p><p>“That way!” Yennefer nods towards the row of mansions that line the beach. They change directions and sprint towards the mansions, cutting across the lawns. A family eating lunch on their back deck watches them run by with their mouths hanging open. They round the side of one of the houses, out of sight of Fringilla, and Yennefer stops running so abruptly that Jaskier almost falls over.</p><p>“Listen to me,” Yennefer says.”If Fringilla catches you, she will take you to Nilfgaard and torture you.”</p><p>Jaskier is trying his hardest not to think of what a person who reduced Geralt to screaming will do to him.“Well aware, Yennefer.”</p><p>“So we need to make it so she won’t catch you.”</p><p>“Yes, thank you, a plan I can get behind.”</p><p>“We have two options. You aren’t going to like either of them.”</p><p>“What are they?” Jaskier knows Fringilla will round the corner any minute.</p><p>“I could end this. Make sure that neither of us can be taken by Nilfgaard.”</p><p>It takes a moment for her meaning to sink in. “You mean kill us both.”</p><p>She lifts her chin. “I can make it quick and painless, which is more mercy than Fringilla will offer you.”</p><p>“No.” Jaskier doesn’t even need to think about it. “I don’t want to die, Yenn, and I won’t do that to Geralt. I would rather take my chances with Fringilla. Maybe that makes me a coward, but I don’t care.”</p><p>A day or two ago, Yennefer may have argued with him, but she shakes her head. “You’re not a coward, Jaskier. Nothing that you’ve done in the past few days has been cowardly.”</p><p>He swallows back the lump in his throat. “What’s our other option?”</p><p>“Fringilla returns to Nilfgaard with the prisoner she’s been hunting.” Yennefer steps back from him. She looks him up and down and as Jaskier watches, the air around her seems to go fuzzy. He blinks and when he opens his eyes, an exact replica of himself is standing in front of him, down to the wet sand caked on the knees of his jeans.</p><p>“What the fuck?” Jaskier has a flashback to the doppler that attacked him and Geralt last year. On instinct, he shrinks back.</p><p>“Fringilla isn’t going to chase you through the portal, because she’s going to think she already captured you,” the other Jaskier tells him in Yennefer’s voice.</p><p>His jaw drops open. “You’re right. I hate this option. Absolutely not. No fucking way.”</p><p>“I wouldn’t do this if it wasn’t the best way.”</p><p>“No, it isn’t! We can portal out of here together.”</p><p>“And then she’ll follow us and catch us. If I try to fight her right now, I’ll lose. She’ll kill me and capture you.”</p><p>“So you get caught and tortured instead? You actually know where Ciri is!”</p><p>“Yes, I do. Which is why you’re going to tell them that they need to evacuate as soon as you get to them. I won’t break easily under torture and I’ll be able to resist her mind magic, at least for a bit. I’ll be able to buy you a few hours, maybe even a day.”</p><p>Jaskier hears a portal open up behind him. “Yenn, we can figure something else out.”</p><p>“There’s no time.” Yennefer leans forward and grabs Jaskier’s shoulders. It’s incredibly odd, staring into his own eyes. “Listen, Jaskier, this is going to be unpleasant. I’m sending you through multiple portals to make it harder to track you. You will feel like you’re being turned inside out. You need to stay conscious until the end. If you lose consciousness, you're as good as dead.”</p><p>“Wait, you don’t have to—”</p><p>“Just trust me. Close your eyes and picture Ciri.” Yennefer waves her hand and Jaskier goes flying backwards into the portal.</p><p>Jaskier thought he was getting used to the sensation of portaling. He’s never going to love the feeling of being snuffed out of existence, even if it is just for a few seconds, but he doubts even practiced mages do. The portal Yennefer shoves him through is a new level of awful. His body stops making sense. One moment it’s there, the next it’s gone. He keeps landing on solid ground, only to be jerked back out of existence a second later. He’s screaming, but his mouth isn’t making any noise, and everything hurts, but at the same time, he has no body to hurt. Everything is noise and confusion and silence and light and dark.</p><p>And then he lands face-first in soft, cool grass. Trembling, he braces himself to be yanked back into another portal, but nothing happens. When he looks up, he finds himself staring directly into the placid face of the sheep. It lets out a soft <em>bah</em> and nudges at him with its nose.</p><p>Finally, Jaskier’s eyes roll back into his head and he lets unconsciousness claim him.</p><p>***</p><p>The portal closes behind Jaskier just as Fringilla rounds the corner. Yennefer turns to face the other sorceress.</p><p>“She left you, didn’t she?” Fringilla’s voice is filled with syrupy sympathy. “That’s just how Yennefer is, I’m afraid. She’s been the way since we were girls. You can’t take it personally.”</p><p>Yennefer doesn’t say anything, knowing the sound of her voice would immediately give her away. The visual illusion is proving challenging enough for her to hold; adding an auditory illusion to it would most likely cause her control to slip. She hopes that Fringilla will just think that Jaskier has been struck mute with fear.</p><p>“Yennefer looks out for herself, no matter the consequences,” Fringilla continues. “You aren’t the first to learn that the hard way, and you won’t be the last.”</p><p>Yennefer just stares at her. It’s taking everything in her to keep up the illusion and she fears that the moment Fringilla touches her, it will fall apart. The effort leaves her shaking. She knows that she’s running on pure adrenaline right now. It’s like when a mother lifts a car off her child and doesn’t feel the resulting torn muscles and broken bones until after the danger has passed. When the overexertion hits Yennefer, it will bring her to her knees. She just needs to make sure that Jaskier, Ciri, Triss, and the others will have had plenty of time to get to safety by then.</p><p>“Here’s what’s going to happen, Jaskier,” Fringilla says. “I’m going to bring you to Geralt. I’m sure you’ve been wanting to see him. I know he’s been desperate to see you. He’s been screaming for you for days.”</p><p>Yennefer’s hands ball into fists at her sides.</p><p>Fringilla tuts and shakes her head. “You’re not going to fight me, are you, Jaskier? That would go poorly for you.”</p><p>Yennefer thinks about it actually being Jaskier standing here, facing down a hostile mage alone, and she wants to burn Fringilla to ashes. She settles for meeting the other sorceress’ eyes defiantly.</p><p>“Good,” Fringilla says softly. “As long as you and Geralt cooperate, things will go much more easily from here on out. No one else has to get hurt.”</p><p>Yennefer can’t help the small scoffing noise she makes.</p><p>Fringilla’s eyes narrow, but she doesn’t reply. Instead, she grasps Yennefer by the wrist, opens up a portal, and yanks her into the darkness.</p><p>***</p><p>Jaskier wakes to the sensation of something chewing on his hair.</p><p>“Mousesack, cut it out.” He reaches up to push away the incorrigible cat and finds something a lot larger and smellier than Mousesack. When he looks up, he finds himself surrounded by sheep, one of which has apparently decided that his hair is a tasty new kind of grass.</p><p>“Hey, now.” Jaskier pushes it away. “I don’t even like mutton. There’s no need for you to take your revenge. Though I will admit to enjoying the occasional lamb burger. I hope you don’t hold it against me.”</p><p>The sheep goes back to eating grass, apparently unconcerned for its fallen brethren.</p><p>Jaskier blinks at it. “I’m guessing you can’t tell me where the hell I am?”</p><p>There’s no answer from the sheep, but Jaskier hears a metallic click. He freezes.</p><p>“No, but I would like you to tell me what you’re doing, portaling onto private property.” The voice is low, smooth, and has a strong Skelligan accent. When Jaskier starts to lift his head, the man continues, “No. Keep your head down, hands flat on the ground. It’s best for both of us if you don’t see my face.”</p><p>Jaskier complies, heart suddenly lodged in his throat.</p><p>“What’s your business here?” the man asks.</p><p>Jaskier knows what he should say. Yennefer sent him, she’s been taken by Fringilla, they need to evacuate now. But there’s a gun pointed at him and all logical thought has been replaced with panic. His brain pinballs back and forth between being pinned down in Geralt’s bed year and a half ago with a gun pressed against his chest and having a gun to his head only days before while the man he killed bled out at his feet. He can’t speak or move.</p><p>A foot nudges him in the side, none too gently. “I won’t ask you again.”</p><p>“I…” Jaskier swallows, throat bone dry. If Yennefer has sacrificed herself to Fringilla and then he gets himself shot in the head, he’s pretty sure she’ll resurrect him just to kill him again.</p><p>“Eist, stop!” It’s a wonderfully familiar voice that Jaskier hasn’t heard in over a year. Suddenly heedless of the gun pointed at him, he looks up. “I know him! He’s a friend!”</p><p>There’s a girl with short red hair running towards them, wearing jeans and a light blue hoodie. The man standing in front of Jaskier is a handsome middle-aged man with dark hair, holding a shotgun. He has it pointed directly at Jaskier’s head, but Jaskier is focused on the girl. Last time he saw her, she had long, white blonde hair, and she’s grown taller, but he would recognize that smile or those green eyes anywhere.</p><p>“Ciri,” he croaks, rising to his knees as she comes barreling into his arms. He’s vaguely aware of the man with the gun— Eist— saying something, but he doesn’t listen. Instead, he concentrates on hugging the girl he was worried he would never see again.</p><p>“Jaskier!” It’s Triss hurrying towards them, her expression filled with worry. “Gods, what happened? Where’s Yennefer?”</p><p>***</p><p>Yennefer allows herself to be led down a sterile, brightly-lit hallway, as docile as a lamb. More docile than the actual Jaskier would be, she’s sure, but she’s also sure that this is what Fringilla expects from Jaskier. So as much as it rankles her to act meek and scared, she keeps her head down and allows two human guards to drag her down the hallway after Fringilla. The hallway is lined with windows, each overlooking what would look like hospital rooms, if the doors weren’t bolted shut and the beds didn’t have manacles attached to them. Almost all the rooms are empty.</p><p>Fringilla looks back and catches Yennefer’s eye. “Underground torture chambers are very fourteenth century. We’ve adapted with the times.”</p><p>Yennefer’s jaw clenches so tightly with the urge to speak that it aches. They pass a room with an occupied bed and she stops in her tracks when she recognizes the occupant as Geralt. He’s not screaming anymore. He’s lying still, eyes closed, and for a heartrending moment, Yennefer thinks he’s dead. It’s not until she sees the shallow, quick rise and fall of his chest that she realizes he’s still breathing. Her own breath comes out in a shaky exhale.</p><p>“Here we are.” Fringilla pushes open the door and the guards pull Yennefer into the room. It smells terrible in here, like piss, blood, and other unmentionable things. With his advanced witcher senses, Geralt must be suffocating on the stench.</p><p>But if Geralt even notices anything at all, he gives no indication. He doesn’t move when Yennefer, Fringilla, and the guards enter the room.</p><p>“He’s been like this for the last few hours,” Fringilla says, circling around to place a hand on Geralt’s forehead. “He did beautifully. I expected the procedure to take another day, maybe two, but Geralt of Rivia has always exceeded everyone’s expectations.”</p><p>Physically, Geralt looks no different than he did the last time Yennefer saw him, though worse for wear. His skin is ever paler than usual and his hair is stuck to his forehead with sweat, but he’s in one piece. Whatever this procedure was, the effects must have been internal.</p><p>“Open your eyes, Geralt.” Fringilla’s voice is low and coaxing. “You did so well that I brought you a reward.”</p><p>With a soft groan, Geralt opens his eyes. Yennefer steps closer, thinking her own eyes must be playing tricks on her. It must be the lighting or the fact that he isn't looking directly at her. But she nearly drops her illusion from sheer shock when Geralt turns his head and looks at her with unfocused, bloodshot brown eyes.</p><p>***</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Content warning: While they're being pursued by the assassin, Yennefer briefly considers killing herself and Jaskier to stop them from falling into enemy hands. If this may be triggering for you, please skip the paragraph that begins, "For an instant, she wonders" and the exchange that begins with "I could end this" and ends with "What's our other option?"</p><p>... Anyways, I hope this made up for the uneventful chapter last week!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Of Chaos and Captivity</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>While Yennefer works to keep herself and Geralt alive, Jaskier, Triss, and the others try to figure out a way to save them.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I know a lot of you were very worried after last week's chapter, so I just want to reassure everyone that I don't do sad endings! Sad middles are fine, but my endings will always be happy (or at least hopeful.) Everything will end up okay, they're just going to suffer first.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Everything feels wrong. The pain has stopped, besides the tremors that still run through Geralt’s body occasionally, but his limbs are like jelly. The simple act of opening his eyes is a struggle. When he sees Jaskier standing there, flanked by two guards, panic surges through him. Jaskier is staring at him with naked horror on his face, trembling. He’s soaking wet and covered in sand. Geralt tries to sit up, but the leather straps are as tight as ever and he’s too weak to even lift his head.</p><p>“No,” Geralt croaks. “Jaskier.”</p><p>Jaskier doesn’t say anything, just looks past Geralt with un-Jaskier-like hatred.</p><p>Geralt only becomes aware that Fringilla is standing on the other side of him when she strokes a hand down his cheek. He flinches. How the fuck did she sneak up on him? “It’s a procedure we developed years ago, based on a formula from the twelfth century. It reverses the effects of the Trial of the Grasses and the Trial of Dreams. All our test subjects died, so it was a pleasant surprise that this one didn’t.”</p><p>Jaskier just shakes his head. It’s all wrong for him to be so silent. Geralt can’t even hear his heartbeat.</p><p>“Your witcher… well, I suppose I shouldn’t call him that anymore, should I? Your lover was resistant to my attempts to pry his secrets out of his thoughts. His mind was too strong. I had to do something to weaken him.” Her fingernails dig into Geralt’s chin. “How strong do you think he’ll be now?”</p><p>Jaskier still doesn’t speak. He’s shaking so hard that Geralt thinks he might fall over.</p><p>The reality of Fringilla’s words breaks through the chaos of Geralt’s thoughts, but he instinctually pushes them away. What she’s saying is impossible. There’s no way to reverse the witcher mutations. It’s one of the first things he and his brothers were taught at Kaer Morhen.  There’s no leaving this life. No take backs, no changing one’s mind later. Once a witcher, always a witcher, until a man or monster brings him down.</p><p>But he can’t hear Jaskier’s heartbeat. He can’t smell his fear or the spicy scent of his aftershave. His own heart is pounding in his chest, too fast for even a human.</p><p>“Look at him, Jaskier,” Fringilla says. “Three days ago, he was the Butcher of Blaviken, and now he’s just a fragile human. As easy to snap in half as you are.”</p><p>Jaskier grits his teeth, but doesn’t speak.</p><p>“Bring him closer,” Fringilla tells the guards. “Maybe he needs a better look at the man he loves.”</p><p>The two guards drag Jaskier forward. Jaskier doesn’t struggle. His steely gaze is still locked on Fringilla. When one of the guards shoves Jaskier so roughly that he nearly falls on top of Geralt, Geralt snarls at the man. The man flinches backwards.</p><p>“Oh, pull yourself together,” Fringilla snaps at the guard. “He’s no threat to you.”</p><p>Jaskier is close enough that Geralt can smell the faintest hint of lilacs and gooseberries. His eyes meet Jaskier’s and Jaskier gives a tiny, almost imperceptible nod. Geralt has to fight the smile tugging at his lips. That explains the unusual silence. If Yennefer is here, there has to be a plan. Yennefer would not allow herself to fall into enemy hands unless she knew how to get them both out of this alive.</p><p>Then he notices the way Yennefer is shaking and the tightness in her jaw. He’s seen her like this a few times, at the end of her magical reserves and still pushing herself. It almost always ends up with her falling unconscious or hurting herself. If she’s struggling this much with holding an illusion, she won’t be able to fight Fringilla.</p><p>“This is how this is going to go, Jaskier,” Fringilla says. “I can wring every scrap of knowledge from your head or you can tell me what I want to know. If you save us both the time and talk, I’ll let your lover live. If not…” Her grip on Geralt tightens and a jolt of pain runs through him. He doesn’t have the energy to scream.</p><p>Yennefer spits in Fringilla’s face. It’s a petty defiance, almost childish, but Geralt doubts she has the energy for anything else.</p><p>Fringilla doesn’t react, except for a soft sigh. “Well, if that’s how things are going to be, then I suppose I have no choice but to do this.”</p><p>Her hand moves to Geralt’s throat and he tenses, knowing what comes next. He doesn’t take his eyes off Yennefer. It might not be the real Jaskier’s blue eyes staring back at him, but he can pretend. Fringilla barely applies any pressure to his throat, but Geralt gasps as his windpipe begins to close. He’s glad his hands are bound so she won’t have the satisfaction of watching him claw desperately at his neck.</p><p>Yennefer lunges. The guards holding her are thrown backwards with startled cries and the pressure on Geralt’s throat releases. Yennefer’s hands flicker with fire as she runs at Fringilla. Fringilla flicks her wrist and Yennefer slams into the wall, sinking to the ground in a heap. When she looks up, it’s with her own face, not Jaskier’s. She’s as soaking wet and sandy as the illusion of Jaskier was, with blood splattered on her face and hair pulled back in a tangled ponytail. Despite the fact that she’s on the ground, as helpless as Geralt right now, she glares up at Fringilla defiantly as the other sorceress approaches.</p><p>“Where is the real Jaskier?” Fringilla asks. If she’s shocked to find out that she accidentally took her old schoolmate captive, she doesn’t show it.</p><p>“Somewhere you won’t find him.” Yennefer’s voice comes out choked.</p><p>“Overexerted yourself a bit, Yennefer?”</p><p>“Fuck off.”</p><p>Fringilla snorts. “I can’t say I’m surprised. You never did know when to quit. It’s why you stayed at Aretuza when anyone could have told you that you didn’t belong.”</p><p>“You need to update your taunts, Fringilla. We’re not girls anymore.” Yennefer hauls herself to her feet and leans against the wall. “Your assassin is dead. Jaskier is safe. Ciri and Calanthe are safe. You’ve failed. Time to go back to being the shadow empress of the whole Continent and stop chasing after a teenager.”</p><p>“What makes you think I failed, Yennefer?” Fringilla strides towards her. “You’re here. And I think you’ll tell me exactly what I need to know.”</p><p>“I won’t tell you anything.”</p><p>“Normally, I would believe you. But you could barely hold up a simple illusion. What makes you think you could keep me out of your mind?”</p><p>Yennefer doesn’t answer.</p><p>Fringilla shakes her head. “You all could have made this so much easier for yourselves. Now, I’m going to take the princess and leave the rest of you dead in unmarked graves.”</p><p>***</p><p>When Jaskier regains consciousness for the second time, he’s lying in a bed under a faded old quilt and Ciri is sitting at the foot of the bed, perched on the edge like she’s ready to leap up at any moment. When she sees Jaskier awake, she does just that, grabbing a glass of water off the bedside table and handing it to him.</p><p>“How’s your head?” she asks him.</p><p>“What happened?” He remembers coming through the portal, talking to the sheep, having a gun pointed at his head, and reuniting with Ciri and Triss. Everything after that is a bit fuzzy.</p><p>“You fainted. Triss says with the kind of portal Yennefer sent you through, it’s a miracle you know your own name.”</p><p>Jaskier winces. “Good to know.”</p><p>It’s odd to see Ciri with short red hair. There’s a line of her natural pale blond at the roots. She’s grown taller too, and her face is a bit more narrow. She’s sixteen now, he realizes, old enough to drive. The fact that Jaskier wasn’t around to see her learn how to drive makes something in his chest ache.</p><p>And then he remembers why Yennefer sent him through that portal and he aches for an entirely different reason. “Oh gods, Yennefer—”</p><p>“You told us, right before you passed out.” Ciri bites her lip. “Triss cried. She tried to go in the other room so we wouldn’t know, but her eyes were all red.”</p><p>Fuck, how is he going to look Triss in the eye, knowing what Yennefer sacrificed for him? “Yennefer said she might be able to buy us a few hours, maybe a day, but—”</p><p>“We know, you told us. You were only unconscious for about an hour. Drink your water.” Her voice is low and soothing, like she’s talking Mousesack through getting a bath.</p><p>Jaskier downs the entire glass in a couple of gulps. “Where are we?”</p><p>“Skellige. On Eist’s farm. We've been staying here since November.”</p><p>“And Eist is the dashing man with the gun?”</p><p>Ciri snorts. “I won’t tell him you called him dashing. He’ll preen about it for days.”</p><p>Jaskier’s lips twitch. Fuck, he missed this kid. “Who is Eist?”</p><p>“One of Gran’s old <em>friends</em> from when she fought for United Continent.” From the way Ciri emphasizes the word “friends,” Jaskier is guessing that Eist is more than a friend. “They used to date off and on when they were younger, before she met my grandfather and left United Continent. They’re super gross. Gran says they have to make up for lost time and that’s why they’re always kissing. All the time.”</p><p>Jaskier doesn’t know what’s more intriguing, the mention of Calanthe’s past taking part in anti-Nilfgaard rebel activities (which he tragically never got to learn much about before Calanthe faked her death) or Calanthe’s decades-long star crossed love. “Good for them.”</p><p>“Ugh.” Ciri wrinkles her nose.</p><p>“Where were you before you came here?”</p><p>“Gors Velen at first. Thank the gods, that didn’t last very long. Then Ard Carraigh for a few months, then Cidaris. Every time we settled down, some Nilfgaardian mage would come poking around.”</p><p>And now it’s going to happen again, because of Jaskier. </p><p>“I’m sorry about Geralt,” Ciri says softly.</p><p>Jaskier closes his eyes. He doesn’t want her to see the pain in them. “It’s not your fault.”</p><p>“It kind of is.”</p><p>“No.” He shakes his head. “It’s a power-hungry sorcessess’s fault. You aren’t to blame for other people being evil. We’ll get him back.”</p><p>Ciri nods, jaw tense, and stands up. “Come on, everyone’s downstairs.”</p><p>Every muscle in Jaskier’s body hurts, but he follows her. It turns out that the house where Ciri and Calanthe have been staying is a charming little farmhouse nestled in the rolling green hills of Skellige. Under normal circumstances, Jaskier would be delighted to find himself here. As it is, he feels somewhat like a trapped animal as Ciri leads him to the small, sunny kitchen, which they find crowded with people.</p><p>Calanthe, Triss, and Tissaia stand in the center of the kitchen, each looking like they’re about to draw a weapon and challenge the other two to a duel. Eist stands behind Calanthe with his hands lightly stroking up and down her arms in a soothing gesture. She doesn’t seem soothed. Sabrina sits at the kitchen table with Lambert. And against the wall, three witchers that Jaskier doesn’t know stand. He stares. All four witchers are in full gear, including two swords strapped to their back. Their armor and bulky physiques look incongruous among yellow flowered wallpaper and ceramic figurines of farm animals.</p><p>“What you’re talking about is a suicide mission.” Calanthe doesn’t seem to notice Jaskier and Ciri in the doorway.</p><p>“I’ve never known you to run from a fight, Calanthe,” Tissaia bites out. </p><p>“I will when my granddaughter is involved.”</p><p>“Then we’ll take you, Ciri, and Eist somewhere safe,” Triss says. “But then we’re coming back here and we’re going to end this. I’m not running away when Fringilla has Yennefer and Geralt.”</p><p>“And then what happens to Ciri when she doesn’t have you anymore?”</p><p>“Don’t you dare.” Tissaia’s voice is low and dangerous.</p><p>Calanthe turns to Triss. “You’ve always been the first to admit you’re not a fighter.”</p><p>“That was before they took Yennefer.”</p><p>“And you think Yennefer would want you to get yourself killed for no reason?”</p><p>“No.” Triss’s lips twitch into a small, sad smile. “But she’s not here to yell at my right now.”</p><p>Lambert makes a show of noticing Ciri and Jaskier in the doorway, which is bullshit, since Jaskier knows he could hear their conversation upstairs. “Good, you’re alive,” he says to Jaskier. “We were worried the sheep finished you off.”</p><p>“Nice to see you too, Lambert,” Jaskier says dryly. “Who are your friends?”</p><p>“None of us are his friends,” a brown-haired witcher with a scarred face tells him. “Lambert is a prick.”</p><p>Jaskier decides that this one is his favorite. His name turns out to be Eskel. The dark-haired, bearded witcher with pox scars on his cheeks and a griffin medallion hanging around his neck is Coën. The older one— and Jaskier didn’t even know witchers could get old, but this one looks near seventy— is Vesemir. A week ago, Jaskier would have been thrilled to be in a room with four of Geralt’s brother witchers (his old fear of non-Geralt witchers after the assassin attacked him last year has been mostly forgotten.)  He would have had so many questions. Now, he can only feel an ache in his chest that his witcher isn’t here.</p><p>Calanthe, Triss, and Tissaia don’t even seem to notice the introductions. They’re still bickering, right up until Ciri strides towards them and stands in between them.</p><p>“Triss and Tissaia are right,” she tells Calanthe. </p><p>“Ciri.”</p><p>“No, I’m tired of running.” The way Ciri stands with her arms crossed over her chest and her feet planted like she’s ready to lunge at an opponent is a mirror of her grandmother. Jaskier is sure neither of them would appreciate him pointing this out. “They took Geralt and Yennefer because of us. They’re torturing Geralt. We need to fix it.”</p><p>Calanthe’s expression crumples. “You can’t blame yourself.”</p><p>“I’ll blame myself if we leave them to die. Why have I been training for the past year if you’re not going to let me defend the people I care about?”</p><p>“You aren’t ready to take on Nilfgaard.”</p><p>“You’re the kid with the scream, right?” Lambert, with his usual excellent sense of timing, asks. “Screaming in terror doesn’t do much against armies, kid.”</p><p>Ciri’s eyes narrow and she screams. Remembering the way her scream took down Stregobor's tower, Jaskier instinctively flinches, but he doesn’t feel that crushing pressure on his head that he’s come to associate with Ciri’s screams. Instead, the only thing in the room that seems to be affected is a glass sitting on the counter, which shatters.</p><p>“Ciri,” Eist says mournfully.</p><p>“Sorry, Eist.” Ciri doesn’t look sorry. She hasn’t taken her eyes off Lambert.</p><p>“While I appreciate the familial flair for the dramatic, I’m running out of glassware here.”</p><p>“Eist.” Calanthe rolls her eyes and the man falls silent.</p><p>“I took down Stregobor's tower,” Ciri tells Lambert coldly. “I’ve spent the last year learning how to fight and harness my powers. I could make your brain explode if I really wanted to. How’s that for screaming in terror?”</p><p>Far from being furious about being threatened by a slip of a teenage girl, Lambert looks delighted.</p><p>Ciri turns back to her grandmother. “I’m done with changing my name every few months. I want to settle down in one place. I want to go back to school. I want to be able to make friends again. I want to be able to live without having to worry about Nilfgaard showing up at our door.”</p><p>“You don’t know what these people are capable of, sweetheart,” Calanthe says quietly.</p><p>“Yes, I do. They’re going to kill Geralt and Yennefer.” Ciri’s voice cracks. “We’re no better than Fringilla or Stregobor if we let that happen.”</p><p>“She’s right, Calanthe,” Eist says. When Calanthe turns to glare at him, he shrugs helplessly. “Let’s say we leave right now. How long do you think it will take for Fringilla to catch up with us again?”</p><p>Calanthe visibly reacts to the word “we.” In any other situation, Jaskier would find it adorable.</p><p>“Here, we know they’re coming,” Eist continues. “That’s an advantage we may not get again. And we have three sorceresses and four witchers with us. Those are good odds against even a small army.”</p><p>“We came here to fight,” Eskel says, and the other three witchers make noises of assent. “They took our brother.”</p><p>“Yeah, what’s the point of calling in four witchers if you don’t want to spill some blood?” Lambert shrugs.</p><p>Jaskier clears his throat. When everyone turns to look at him, he’s acutely aware of the fact that he’s the least deadly person in the room. “What if we don’t need to fight them?”</p><p>“Nilfgaard doesn’t do peace talks,” Lambert says. “You going to sing at them?”</p><p>“Fuck off, Lambert. They have my boyfriend. I’m not interested in peace. Triss, say Fringilla portals here with a small army. How hard would it be to make a portal to wherever she came from?”</p><p>“Simple,” Triss says. “It’s the same process as tracking where a portal is traveling to.”</p><p>Tissaia nods. “We would have to get to the exact location where Fringilla’s portal appeared, so a fight would still be unavoidable.”</p><p>“Then I guess we fight.” Jaskier shrugs and thinks fondly on the days where a fight with Nilfgaardian forces would have been something he avoided. “So Fringilla and her people attack. We fight our way to the portal and hope that it takes us to where they’re keeping Geralt and Yennefer.”</p><p>“And then they follow us and eliminate us there?” Calanthe asks.</p><p>“Maybe. Or we have a witcher and another sorceress on our side and they help us stop Fringilla. Or at the very least, give her such an ass kicking that we can get away. Even injured, Geralt and Yennefer are scarier than she’ll ever be.” Jaskier takes a deep breath. “I’m staying to fight. With three sorceresses and four witchers, I like our odds. Though we could probably use two expert marksmen and a girl who can control chaos with her scream.”</p><p>Calanthe has never been one to back away from a fight, and Jaskier can see the worried grandmother struggling with the battle-hardened rebel in her face. “It will be dangerous. There’s a chance we’ll all get ourselves killed.”</p><p>“None of us would be here if we weren’t willing to take that chance.”</p><p>Lambert makes a skeptical noise and Vesemir swats him on the back of the head.</p><p>Calanthe’s shoulders sag. “Somebody get me a fucking gun. I need to shoot something.”</p><p>***</p><p>Yennefer thinks she does an admirable job of holding out, at least for a while. They’ve used dimeritium cuffs to bind her to a bed in the same room as Geralt. It’s just another way to torture Geralt, who can only watch helplessly as Fringilla forces her way into Yennefer’s mind. Yennefer keeps the other sorceress busy for a long time by reliving the various dull lectures they attended at school together. She takes no small amount of pleasure in remembering the day where Fringilla burned her own arm into a shriveled husk because she couldn’t be bothered to listen to Tissaia. Fringilla’s grip on her head tightens every time Yennefer recalls that memory.</p><p>Under normal circumstances, Yennefer could probably hold out all day, but the dimeritium cuffs and her own exhaustion have left her weak. It doesn’t take long before Fringilla begins to worm her way under those memories.</p><p>
  <em>Jaskier sitting on the ground next to an unconscious Geralt, looking up at Yennefer with a wary expression. “He was stabbed with a cursed blade,” he tells her. “Can you help him?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Sitting with Triss and Ciri at Aretuza, watching the girl’s face light up when Triss makes flowers grow out of the stone floor.</em>
</p><p>No, she doesn’t want to think about this.</p><p>
  <em>Portaling Ciri and Calanthe to a safehouse in Gors Velen. Her surprise when Ciri leans against her, tears in her eyes. Yennefer doesn’t remember the last time someone sought her out for comfort.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“You’re powerful,” she tells Ciri later, at another safehouse in another city. “You could level cities if you wanted to. I’m here to make sure you only level cities when you want to.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“What if I don’t want to level cities?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Yennefer shrugs. “Then you don’t.</em>
</p><p>“There we are, Yennefer,” Fringilla says softly. “Finally, you’re worth my time.”</p><p>Yennefer’s wrists strain against the cuffs.</p><p>
  <em>The look of triumph on Ciri’s face when her scream shatters a vase, leaving the vases on either side untouched.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The light glinting in Triss’s hair as she stands in the kitchen of Eist’s farmhouse.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Sitting around the fireplace with Triss, Tissaia, and Calanthe. “Ciri is happy here,” Calanthe says. “I feel like this is the first place she’s settled since we left Posada.”</em>
</p><p>Yennefer thinks about biting Fringilla’s hand. It’s a childish, silly impulse, and she won’t give into it. She may lose everything else, but she won’t lose her dignity.</p><p>
  <em>Telling Triss, “I have a job in Kaedwen. Some ancient family curse bullshit. It should take a few weeks."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Triss smiles at her. “Hurry back. Ciri will miss you.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Oh, I doubt that. You’re her favorite.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“You know as well as I do that’s not true.” Triss hesitates. "And I'll miss you too."</em></p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p><em>Yennefer never knows what to say when Triss says things like that. "I'll be back before you know it. Tissaia won't even have time to drive you crazy." And then she pretends to have forgotten something in the other room, before she can say something foolish.</em>
</p><p>That was probably the last time Yennefer will ever see Triss, Yennefer realizes grimly. What an anticlimactic goodbye after so many centuries of friendship.</p><p>
  <em>Glancing over her shoulder one last time as she opens a portal to Kaedwen. Taking in the old stone farmhouse with its picturesque front porch and the flower boxes in the windows. Feeling the slightest twinge of regret that she has to leave.</em>
</p><p>Yennefer opens her eyes in time to see a smug smile cross Fringilla’s face.</p><p>***</p><p>The night is dark and silent as Triss and Jaskier sit side by side on the front steps of Eist’s farmhouse. Jaskier has a knife he borrowed from Eskel clutched in his hand (he’s trying not to mourn the knives Geralt gave him, abandoned in his crushed car somewhere near Brugge.) Triss has barely said a word in the hour they’ve been sitting here and he can feel how rigidly she’s holding herself.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” he says when he can’t stand the silence anymore.</p><p>Triss sighs. “You don’t have anything to be sorry about, Jaskier.”</p><p>“I shouldn’t have let her sacrifice herself.”</p><p>“You couldn’t have stopped her, even if you tried.”</p><p>“It made no sense, strategically. Fringilla could have tortured me all she wanted, and she wouldn’t have gotten shit out of me. I didn’t know anything about where you were hiding Ciri and Calanthe.”</p><p>Triss lets out a humorless little laugh. “Yennefer wasn’t thinking about strategy, Jaskier. She was trying to protect you.”</p><p>Jaskier swallows. “Oh.”</p><p>“She doesn’t care about many people. But once she decides someone’s worth caring about, she’ll do whatever she has to do to keep them safe. She and Geralt are similar like that.” Triss’s voice cracks. “As soon as Yennefer decided that you were her friend, there was no way she was going to let you fall into Fringilla’s hands.”</p><p>Jaskier closes his eyes. “Gods damn it, Yennefer.”</p><p>“Welcome to my world,” Triss mutters. “She’s absolutely impossible, but I still…”</p><p>She trails off. Jaskier waits a moment for her to elaborate. When she doesn’t, he carefully says, “So, you two…”</p><p>“It’s complicated.”</p><p>“That’s a very Yennefer answer.”</p><p>“We have known each other for a long time.”</p><p>“Since Aretuza?”</p><p>“No, I was long gone from Aretuza by the time she was there,” Triss says. “I was the court mage in Temeria when she went to Aedirn’s court. She was… unaccustomed to court life. She’s never been particularly good at catering to the egos of powerful men, and that was most of life as a court mage. Temeria and Aedirn were close allies, so I saw her a couple of times a year. We became friends. And then relations cooled between Aedirn and Temeria quite abruptly and I didn’t see her for several years before the assassin killed Lyria’s queen and princess. No one knew if Yennefer had been killed too. I looked for her for years. It wasn’t until right before Sodden Hill that I saw her again. It was like we were given a second chance.”</p><p>There’s so much yearning in her voice that Jaskier’s heart hurts in sympathy.</p><p>“And then Sodden Hill happened and none of us were the same after that. We lost most of our friends that day. I was hurt holding the bridge. By the time I recovered, she and Geralt had reconciled. And then for the next century or so, they were either together, fighting, or broken up but still obsessed with each other.”</p><p>“But they broke up a hundred years ago.”</p><p>“I wasn’t sure if she was truly over Geralt until you came along and she only disliked you a normal amount for Yennefer. Had she still been in love with him, she would have made life very unpleasant for you.”</p><p>Jaskier winces. He can only imagine the form that unpleasantness would have taken. “Good to know.”</p><p>Triss takes a deep breath. “Yennefer knows how I feel. She’s known how I felt since we were at court together. I’ve always worn my heart on my sleeve with her.”</p><p>“Have you tried talking to her?” When Triss doesn’t answer, Jaskier puts his face in his hands. “Triss, you’re supposed to be the emotionally mature one in this band of beautiful, immortal idiots.”</p><p>“What gave you that idea?”</p><p>“I don’t know!” Jaskier throws his hands up in exasperation. “But you’ve been pining over the same woman for hundreds of years?”</p><p>“When you get to be my age, you watch most of your friends die. From old age, if they’re lucky, but usually something much more horrible. I don’t have many friends who will live as long as I will. I would hate to do something to ruin one of those friendships.”</p><p>It makes sense, so Jaskier just reaches out to squeeze her hand in sympathy.</p><p>“How did you get Geralt to open up?” Triss asks. “I never thought I would see that day.”</p><p>“I annoyed him into submission. You’re much less irritating than I am, so I wouldn’t recommend trying.” She laughs at that, a real laugh, and Jaskier smiles. “I really don’t know, actually. I was resigned to pining over him for the rest of my life, and then I nearly got killed by a graveir, and next thing I knew, he was kissing me. Another strategy I wouldn’t recommend, especially since he ran off and didn’t talk to me for a month.”</p><p>“But it worked out for you two.”</p><p>He squeezes her hand again. “And it would work out for you and Yennefer if you would just talk to her.”</p><p>“I will.” Triss’s voice softens. “When we get them back, it’s the first thing I’ll do.”</p><p>“Oh, thank the gods,” Lambert drawls from the rocking chair behind them. “Now, are we done talking about our fucking feelings, or do I need to let the first Nilf that shows up kill me?”</p><p>Jaskier completely forgot that Lambert was there. “Oh, fuck off, Lambert.” </p><p>“You want my advice, Merigold?” Lambert asks.</p><p>“Not even a little bit,” she says dryly.</p><p>“Too bad, you need it. There isn’t a person alive who is worth centuries of pining. Just get a fucking dog.”</p><p>“Have you ever been in love, Lambert?” Jaskier asks.</p><p>Lambert snorts. “I have a fully functioning brain, so no.”</p><p>“There’s still time. I have several friends from college with fantastically bad taste in men. I’d be happy to introduce—”</p><p>“Shut up, kid.”</p><p>“It would really be no problem. I do love trainwrecks.”</p><p>“Shut up.” Lambert stands up. For a second, Jaskier thinks he’s well and truly pissed the witcher off, until he sees Triss climb to her feet as well. In front of them, a portal opens and a sorceress walks through, followed by a dozen soldiers in black Nilfgaardian uniforms. It’s not Fringilla, but a petite woman with mousy brown hair.</p><p>Lambert whistles, and his whistle is answered by three answering ones. The others— Vesemir with Ciri and Tissaia, Coën with Sabrina and Calanthe, and Eskel with Eist— also see portals appearing.</p><p>“Damn, they’re surrounding us,” Jaskier whispers.</p><p>“We expected this, remember?” Triss’s voice is low and soothing.</p><p>He nods, though it’s cold comfort when faced with a dozen men with guns and an unknown mage. From the other side of the house, he hears gunfire and he flinches. Gods, he hopes the others are okay. If anything happens to Ciri…</p><p>Lambert vaults over the railing of the porch and barrels at the soldiers, swords drawn.</p><p>“Lambert, wait, they have guns!” Jaskier calls. “Fucking <em>witchers</em>.”</p><p>The soldiers fire. Lambert casts Quen without breaking stride, but the bullets don’t even hit the shield before Triss sends them back at the soldiers with a wave of magic. Three of the soldiers fall.</p><p>“I had that handled, Merigold!” Lambert snaps over his shoulder.</p><p>“You’re welcome, you ass.” Triss looks like she’d like to say more, but she’s distracted by the Nilfgaardian sorceress hurling a fireball at her. She raises her hand and the fireball explodes in midair.</p><p>Jaskier stands on the porch, watching as Lambert takes on the nine surviving soldiers single handedly while Triss fights the sorceress. Armed with nothing but his knife, he feels distinctly useless. He’s at least wearing a bulletproof vest, but his skull isn’t bulletproof. But he remembers the look on Yennefer’s face before she pushed him through that portal. If Yennefer could hand herself over to be tortured for him, he can face a bunch of Nilfgaardian assholes to get her back.</p><p>Even if those Nilfgaardian assholes have big, scary weapons.</p><p>Lambert is taking on five soldiers at once, with bodies littering the ground around him. A sixth soldier is sneaking up behind him, gun raised. Wondering exactly what choices he made to get himself to this point in life, Jaskier sprints towards the attacker and tackles him. The man’s gun goes off, hitting one of his fellow soldiers, and he and Jaskier fall to the grass, grappling. The barrel of the gun swings around to point directly at Jaskier’s face and he experiences a moment of pure panic before a sword slices downwards, severing the soldier’s arm. The soldier’s scream is cut off, along with his head.</p><p>“Kid, if you’re going to help, try to actually help.” Lambert reaches down to pull Jaskier to his feet.</p><p>Jaskier gapes at him. “You were about to get shot in the head!”</p><p>“I would have been fine.” Lambert shrugs and casts Aard to throw two of the remaining soldiers backwards into the volley of spells flying between Triss and the other sorceresses. Both soldiers crumble into ashes.</p><p>“You know, next rescue mission, I want to be paired with Eskel. I like Eskel.”</p><p>“Everyone fucking likes Eskel. That’s his thing.” Lambert runs another attacker through and turns on the last surviving soldier. The young man, who hardly looks older than Ciri, takes one look at Lambert’s blood-splattered face and turns to flee. Lambert turns and hurls his sword at the sorceress, who is so busy trying to kill Triss that she doesn’t see it coming. The sword buries itself in her back and she falls.</p><p>Triss looks up at him, breathing heavily. “I had that, Lambert.”</p><p>“A ‘thank you’ would be nice.”</p><p>“Would it, now?” Triss exchanges eye rolls with Jaskier and opens up a portal. “Come on.”</p><p>Jaskier follows Lambert through the portal, Triss right behind him. They reappear in what looks like a conference room, down to the pot of undoubtedly lukewarm coffee sitting in the middle of the table. A young woman looks up at them with wide eyes and says, “You’re not supposed to—”</p><p>Lambert casts Axii and her face goes slack. “You saw nothing,” he tells her. “Where is the witcher?”</p><p>The woman’s expression doesn’t change. “What's a witcher?”</p><p>“What’s a— you know what, just leave.”</p><p>The woman doesn’t even bother gathering her things before she stands up and leaves the room. Lambert stares after her, mouthing, <em>“What’s a witcher?”</em></p><p>The lights go out, plunging the room into the darkness. The only light source is the dim emergency lights that illuminate the floor. “I guess Eist and Eskel made it here,” Jaskier says. Which means Calanthe, Sabrina, and Coën. are here as well, since Sabrina was supposed to go back for them after portaling Calanthe and Coën in.</p><p>“Leave it to Eskel to get the easy gig.” Lambert jerks his head at the door. “Come on.”</p><p>They enter a long hallway, lined with doors. “What is this place?” Jaskier whispers. “The office from hell?”</p><p>Lambert grunts. “Think I’d prefer the torture chamber. Less depressing.” He holds out a hand to stop Jaskier and Triss. “Someone is coming.” When Triss raises her hand, he shakes his head. “Save your power, Merigold. You’ll need it.”</p><p>Two armed soldiers round the corner and Lambert moves. Even after knowing Geralt for over a year, witcher speed still takes Jaskier by surprise. Neither soldier has time to fire a single shot before Lambert has snapped the first one’s neck and has the second one pinned up against the wall, sword at his throat.</p><p>“Where are the witcher and the sorceress they’re keeping captive?” he hisses.</p><p>Jaskier is really not looking forward to watching Lambert torture information out of this man, but the soldier is apparently even less eager for torture.</p><p>“They keep the prisoners in the basement,” the soldier chokes out.</p><p>“Of course they do.” Lambert brings the hilt of his sword down on the soldier’s head and releases him as he falls to the ground in a heap. “They’re trying to be all modern with the office instead of the moldy dungeons, but they still keep the prisoners in the windowless basement.”</p><p>“I’m sure Fringilla would be thrilled to hear your review, Lambert,” Triss says dryly.</p><p>An alarm sounds, deep and steady, and a light begins flashing red. Jaskier feels the sound vibrate in his bones.</p><p>“Huh, guess that means they know we’re here.” Lambert grins wolfishly. “This is about to get fun.”</p><p>***</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Next week: the reunion you've all been waiting for :) We're almost to the end!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Of Magic and Mutations</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Jaskier, Triss, and the others stage a rescue mission.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you for all your lovely, thoughtful comments over the last couple of chapters. As always, you all are great.</p><p>This chapter turned into a long one, so I hope you enjoy it!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>After Fringilla gets what she wants out of Yennefer’s mind, Geralt expects her to decide that Geralt and Yennefer are now useless and kill them. But Fringilla just sweeps out of the room without a backward glance, either because she doesn’t consider them enough of a threat that killing them is a priority, or because she intends to use them as leverage. Geralt doesn’t know which one of those options he would prefer.</p><p>Geralt and Yennefer don’t talk for a long time after Fringilla leaves. Geralt stares at the ceiling and tries not to think about his too-rapid heartbeat and his too-heavy breathing. He tries not to think about the fact that he can’t hear Yennefer’s heartbeat; she could die any moment and he wouldn’t know. He doesn’t think about the fact that Fringilla is heading right for Jaskier and Ciri right now and Geralt can’t do anything to stop it. Even if he gets out of this bed, he would just be a human man against an army.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Yennefer says. “We should have gotten to you sooner. This shouldn’t have happened to you.”</p><p>Geralt closes his eyes. “It’s fine.”</p><p>“No, it’s not, Geralt!” Yennefer’s voice is hoarse. “She took away your powers. She turned you human.”</p><p>“It doesn’t matter if I die as a witcher or a human.”</p><p>“Oh, please. I thought you’d gotten over your maudlin phase.” She heaves a sigh. “When we get out of here, I’ll do whatever it takes to find a way to reverse it. I don’t care how long it takes. I will fix this.”</p><p>Geralt’s lips twitch, even though they both know they won’t be getting out of here. And even if they do, there’s no fixing this. “Thanks, Yenn.”</p><p>“After I rip that heinous cow Fringilla’s face off.” He hears a clatter as Yennefer fights against the dimeritium handcuffs binding her.</p><p>“Glad you have your priorities straight.”</p><p>Yennefer snarls in frustration. “I told Jaskier that they would need to evacuate the farmhouse as soon as possible. They’ll be long gone by the time Fringilla gets there. Unless they decide to do something stupid and heroic.”</p><p>“Seems unlikely.”</p><p>“Gods, if they get themselves killed, I will—” Another clatter. She’s going to hurt herself if she keeps that up, but Geralt knows better than to tell her that. “I like him. Jaskier. He isn’t what I was expecting. He keeps his head in a fight. He killed Fringilla’s assassin to save my life.”</p><p>Geralt winces at that.</p><p>“He faced down an entire bar full of Eternal Fire fanatics because he thought they had you.”</p><p>“You took him—”</p><p>“I didn’t take him anywhere. He was supposed to wait in the car.”</p><p>“Yeah, he’s not good at that.”</p><p>“He’s extremely annoying, Geralt, but… spending time with him was tolerable.”</p><p>Geralt snorts. “High praise from you.”</p><p>“He’s a good man, and he loves you,” she says softly. “He’ll tear the Continent apart if it means getting you back. He was ready to walk right into the City of Golden Towers and demand Fringilla release you.”</p><p>Geralt swallows back the lump in his throat.</p><p>“You’ve made far worse decisions in the last five hundred years than loving him, Geralt.”</p><p>“He’s the best decision I’ve ever made,” Geralt says. “He makes me better. He…” Geralt doesn’t have the words for everything Jaskier is to him. “Yenn, if I don’t make it out of here—”</p><p>“If you don’t make it out of here, it’s unlikely I will either.”</p><p>Geralt ignores her. “Don’t let Jaskier do something stupid to avenge me, like try to storm the emperor’s court.”</p><p>“I’m a sorceress, Geralt, not Melitele herself. I don’t know how you think I would control Jaskier.”</p><p>Geralt barks with surprised laughter at that.</p><p>“If I don’t make it out of here, tell Triss I’m sorry,” Yennefer says.</p><p>“You want your last words to Triss to be ‘I’m sorry?’”</p><p>“You want your last words to Jaskier to be, ‘Don’t avenge me?’”</p><p>“Fair enough.”</p><p>Yennefer scoffs. “How is it, Geralt, that we’ve both been alive for half a millennium, and we’re both still so bad at this?”</p><p>“Hm. Speak for yourself.” Geralt thinks back to when he walked out of the bed and breakfast in Oxenfurt, only a few days ago. He can’t even remember what his last words to Jaskier were. All he remembers is that last sight of Jaskier, sitting on the bed with the bruise on his face.</p><p>Before Yennefer can answer, the lights go out. Geralt stares into the darkness, surprised. He never realized how little humans see in the dark. He knew they couldn’t see as well as him, but he can’t even make out the outline of Yennefer across the room.</p><p>“A power outage?” Yennefer sounds skeptical.</p><p>“Or that stupid, heroic thing you were worried about.” Geralt strains his ears, but he hears nothing outside the room. He can’t even tell if there are still guards outside their room. How the fuck do humans deal with this?</p><p>“They couldn’t possibly be stupid enough to walk into a Nilfgaardian stronghold and stage a rescue mission,” Yennefer says. “None of them have a death wish.”</p><p>An alarm starts to blare, accompanied by a flashing red light. Geralt looks over and sees Yennefer’s face illuminated by the red glow.</p><p>She rattles her cuffs. “I’m going to kill them. Every single one of them.”</p><p>Geralt closes his eyes. He hopes to every god there is that Jaskier is somewhere safe, far enough away from the battle. Something tells him that that’s not the case. “You might not have to.”</p><p>***</p><p>“Fun?” Jaskier demands of Lambert, staring at the bullet holes in the wall right behind where Jaskier was just standing. If Lambert hadn’t thrown him out of the way with Aard… well, Jaskier doesn’t want to think about that. “This is your idea of fun?”</p><p>The stairwell is filled with dead Nilfgaardian soldiers. It’s the third group they’ve run into and Jaskier is getting very, very tired of having guns pointed at him.</p><p>Lambert grins. His face is splattered with blood and with the two red-stained swords in his hands, he looks downright menacing. “Come on, kid. Where else would you rather be?”</p><p>Home with his boyfriend, his cat, and a bottle of wine. “Somewhere with a lot less blood splatter.” Jaskier looks over his shoulder at Triss and finds her standing there, looking pale.</p><p>“Triss?” Jaskier asks quietly. He knows the sorceress isn’t a natural warrior. She prefers healing over inflicting harm and she’s had to take several lives tonight.</p><p>“I can’t hear them,” Triss says. “Sabrina and Tissaia. I can’t pick up anything from them. I know they’re there, but that’s it. I try to talk to them, and it’s like there’s a wall.”</p><p>“My medallion’s been humming since we got here.” Lambert taps the wolf head. “There’s a fuck ton of magic in this building. Must be some kind of ward.”</p><p>“Well, that complicates things.” Jaskier leans against the bullet-riddled wall. Their escape plan involved being able to communicate with each other so they could come up with a rendezvous point. “What do we do?”</p><p>“What we came here for.” Lambert shrugs. “We get Geralt and Yennefer and portal out. The others can portal themselves out.”</p><p>“We’re not leaving without the others,” Jaskier snaps. “That’s not an option.”</p><p>“Then what do you expect? A magical trail of fucking breadcrumbs to appear and lead us to them?”</p><p>“I don’t know, Lambert, but maybe you could be helpful and offer some fucking suggestions.” Jaskier really wants to punch the witcher. They are so close to Geralt and Yennefer. All they need to do is walk down a couple more flights of stairs. But what’s the point, if they can’t get out safely?</p><p>Below, they hear a door slam open and the sound of people shouting. Jaskier groans. How many soldiers does one building need?</p><p>Apparently a lot, he realizes as Lambert launches himself over the railing of the staircase to descend on the soldiers in a blur of swords and fury. It’s an impressive move, more acrobatic than Geralt’s fighting style. Jaskier is momentarily distracted by watching Lambert battle. If they survive this, he’s going to need Lambert to show him a few moves. </p><p>“Jaskier, get down!” Triss shouts behind him and Jaskier hits the ground just as a fireball flies over his head and leaves a crater in the wall. He looks up to see Triss locked in battle with a sallow-faced mage. Below, Lambert is still fighting the soldiers. Jaskier is trapped between the two fights, feeling completely useless.</p><p>When one of the soldiers breaks away from the fight with Lambert, he heads straight for Jaskier, gun raised. Jaskier can see the desperation on the man’s face and he has a nasty feeling he’s about to be taken hostage. Why do people always want to take him hostage? He braces himself in a defensive position, knife raised, even though it’s not going to be much help against a heavily armed soldier. The soldier is only steps away when a knife comes flying past Jaskier, so close it ruffles his hair, and embeds itself in the soldier’s eye. The man drops without a sound.</p><p>Jaskier turns around to see the mage Triss was fighting dead and Eskel and Eist standing there. From below, there’s a cry as Lambert finishes off the last soldier.</p><p>“Alright?” Eskel asks Jaskier.</p><p>Jaskier nods. “Thanks.”</p><p>Eskel shrugs in a ‘don’t mention it’ sort of way that reminds Jaskier painfully of Geralt. “You’re on your way to the same place as us, I take it?”</p><p>“The basement?”</p><p>Eskel nods.  “The first soldier we ran across told us everything. Didn't even have to draw my swords.”</p><p>“Wasn’t much of an interrogation,” Eist says.</p><p>“Are we going to stand around and chat?” Lambert calls up the stairs. “Because I never thought I’d say this, but I’m tired of killing fucking Nilfgaardians.”</p><p>“We’re coming.” Eskel bends down to pick up the dead soldier’s gun and hands it to Eist. “Let’s go get them back.”</p><p>***</p><p>The sound of the alarm is deafening;  Geralt is almost glad that he no longer has his witcher hearing. This would be excruciating if he did. He tries to listen for any other sign of what’s going on outside the room, but all he can hear is the alarm.</p><p>And then someone screams, the sound only just audible. It’s a man’s voice, cut off almost as soon as the scream begins. Then Geralt hears  gunshots and someone yelling, “Fuck!” in a familiar voice. Lambert? And then more yelling.</p><p>The door bursts open. Briefly illuminated in the red light is a familiar head of dark hair and a round face filled with worry. “Geralt!”</p><p>“Jaskier?” Geralt tries to sit up and fails. “What the fuck are you doing here?”</p><p>Normally, Jaskier would have a snappy comeback, but he just repeats Geralt’s name in a choked voice and bounds across the room to him.</p><p>Geralt is suddenly acutely aware of the fact that he hasn’t bathed in days and that he’s filthy and foul-smelling. Jaskier doesn’t seem to notice. “Geralt,” he says again, sounding on the verge of tears. His hands cup Geralt’s face, fingers running over Geralt’s stubble, and he smooths Geralt’s greasy hair away from his forehead. He peppers Geralt’s face with kisses. Geralt closes his eyes and lets his boyfriend’s closeness wash over him. Jaskier is here and he’s alive.</p><p>“Thank the gods,” Jaskier whispers. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”</p><p>“I’m alright.” It’s not even remotely true, but Geralt is alive, and that will have to do for now.</p><p>“Good,” Jaskier says. “I was going to tear down Nilfgaard if you were dead. Ciri thought you were dying.”</p><p>Geralt grimaces. She’s not wrong. Losing his witcher abilities was the closest to death he’s been since the Trial of the Grasses. And for the first time in five hundred years, he’s mortal. Every heartbeat is one beat closer to dying of old age. But he can’t tell if Jaskier can see anything different about him in the dim light, so he doesn’t say anything. In Jaskier’s mind, Geralt is still a witcher, and Geralt has the stupid, sentimental urge to hold onto that for at least a few more minutes.</p><p>Jaskier pulls a knife out of his belt and begins sawing at the leather bindings around his wrists. When it has no effect, he curses. “Triss, a little help?”</p><p>For the first time, Geralt notices that Yennefer is sitting up in bed, rubbing her sore wrists, and Triss is hovering over her anxiously. Triss looks over, flicks her hand, and the leather bindings around Geralt seem to fall away. As soon as the bindings are gone, Geralt grabs Jaskier and begins checking him over for wounds.</p><p>“You’re okay,” he says, still not entirely believing it.</p><p>Jaskier laughs wetly. “I’m okay? Geralt, I’m not the one who’s been held in a Nilfgaardian torture chamber for days.” </p><p>“I was worried about you.”</p><p>“Like I was going to let anything happen to him.” Yennefer slowly makes her way over to them, Triss behind her. To Geralt’s surprise, Jaskier lets go of him to turn and hug Yennefer. To his even greater surprise, she allows the embrace.</p><p>“Thank you,” Jaskier says.</p><p>Yennefer’s eyes meet Geralt’s and she smiles sadly. “Don’t thank me yet, skinny jeans.”</p><p>“You saved my life.”</p><p>“I’ve saved your life too many times to count. Which time are you thanking me for?”</p><p>“Hey, I saved your life too.”</p><p>“That’s a stretch.”</p><p>Geralt shakes his head and tries to sit up, but a rush of dizziness overtakes him and he sags back against the bed.</p><p>“Easy.” Jaskier lets go of Yennefer and wraps an arm around Geralt to carefully help him to a sitting position. “Can you stand?”</p><p>Geralt grits his teeth. “I can try.”</p><p>Jaskier and Triss help him to his feet. Geralt’s legs wobble dangerously under him and he nearly falls. Only Jaskier’s arm around his waist keeps him on his feet. Triss places a hand on his arm. Warmth spreads through Geralt, chasing away the aches and pains and steadying his legs.</p><p>“Thanks, Triss.” He doesn’t look at her. As soon as Triss sees his face, he’s sure she’ll know what happened. He clears his throat. “Who else is here?”</p><p>“Lambert came with Triss and me,” Jaskier says. “We ran into Eskel and Eist in the stairwell. Calanthe, Tissaia, Sabrina, Ciri, Vesemir, and Coën are somewhere in the building.”</p><p>Geralt doesn’t know what to react to first— that they brought Ciri to a battle in Nilfgaard or that Eskel, Lambert, and the other witchers are here. He doesn’t get a chance to decide before Lambert comes bursting into the room, clutching his arm.</p><p>“Fucking guns. The worst things humans ever invented. Merigold, make yourself useful and—” Lambert looks up and his eyes fall on Geralt. “What the fuck did they do to you?”</p><p>Geralt grimaces. “I’m fine.”</p><p>“No, you’re not.” Lambert strides across the room, gunshot wound forgotten. “<em>What the fuck did they do to you?</em>”</p><p>Eskel appears in the doorway, most likely drawn by Lambert’s shouts. He looks at Geralt and his face goes slack with horror. “Gods.”</p><p>“What’s wrong?” Jaskier sounds a little frantic as he looks Geralt over, like there’s a wound he missed.</p><p>Lambert seizes Geralt by the shoulders. “Your heartbeat is wrong. Your breathing is wrong. You smell wrong. Everything is wrong.”</p><p>Geralt knows that his brother doesn’t mean to be cruel, but every word is like a blow. He turns to Jaskier and looks his lover in the face. “Fringilla found a way to reverse the Trial of the Grasses.”</p><p>“That’s impossible,” Lambert growls.</p><p>“Lambert.” Eskel pulls the younger witcher back, visibly struggling to stay calm. “What happened, Geralt?”</p><p>Saying the words hurts. “They stripped away my mutations. They turned me human.”</p><p>***</p><p>The soldier falls at Tissaia’s feet, eyes staring. “They’re in the basement,” she says briskly, wiping her hands on her dress. “Geralt and Yennefer both.”</p><p>“And the others?” Vesemir asks.</p><p>“I still can’t reach them.”</p><p>Ciri looks between the witcher and the sorceress. If either of them are worried, neither of them show it. “So let’s get to the basement.” There’s a sword in her hand and a scream on the tip of her tongue and she’s never been more ready to fight. Now, if only Vesemir and Tissaia would actually let her fight instead of putting themselves between her and whatever enemy comes near.</p><p>Vesemir gives her a bemused look. She can tell the old witcher doesn’t quite know what to do with her. “Are you ready to scream if need be?”</p><p>Ciri has to tamp down on the urge to roll her eyes. “I’ve <em>been</em> ready.”</p><p>“Hm.” His hum is pure Geralt. “Then let’s—”</p><p>Tissaia lets out a choked little cry. “Ciri, cover your nose and mouth!”</p><p>Ciri looks around to see Tissaia doubled over, gasping, as some kind of sparkling dust comes out of the vent overhead. Dimeritium. Ciri slaps her hand over her mouth and backs away until she runs into someone. She turns away and finds herself looking up into a sorceress’s smiling face.</p><p>“You must be Ciri,” Fringilla Vigo says.</p><p>***</p><p>Jaskier can’t tell if the ringing in his ears is from the alarm that’s still blaring or the shock of Geralt’s words. He stares at his boyfriend blankly, trying to make sense of what he just heard. The flashing red light makes it difficult to make out many details about Geralt’s physical condition. Besides being shaky and in terrible need of a shower, he seems fine. But as Jaskier studies his face, he sees that Geralt’s eyes are darker. He can’t tell the exact shade in this lighting, but they aren’t the gold that Jaskier has come to know so well. Geralt is staring back at Jaskier with an uncertain expression, like he’s waiting for Jaskier’s reaction.</p><p>“Fuck.” Jaskier takes Geralt’s face in his hands. “Oh, Geralt, I’m so sorry.”</p><p>Geralt closes his eyes and leans into the touch, looking so defeated that it breaks Jaskier’s heart.</p><p>Eskel’s jaw is clenched so tightly that Jaskier’s teeth ache in sympathy. “Is there a way to reverse this?” he asks Triss and Yennefer.</p><p>“If there is, we’ll find it,” Yennefer says fiercely, but Triss’s devastated expression says it all. Jaskier knows that if there was any hope, Triss would say so.</p><p>“I hate to break this up.” They all look up to see Eist leaning in the doorway, bleeding from a gash in his forehead. “But as much fun as I’m having holding off a small army single handedly, I’m out of ammo and I could use a couple of witchers as backup.”</p><p>Geralt’s hand twitches and Jaskier knows he was about to reflexively reach for his swords.</p><p>Eist’s gaze falls on Geralt and he smiles. “You must be Geralt. Heard a lot about you. I look forward to meeting you properly after we all get out of here alive.”</p><p>There’s a smattering of gunshots and Eist curses and ducks into the room. “Well, that didn’t take long.”</p><p>Eskel and Lambert both charge into the hallway.</p><p>“Get me one of their guns!” Eist calls after them.</p><p>“What’s our exit strategy?” Geralt asks.</p><p>Jaskier winces. “About that…”</p><p>Geralt closes his eyes and breathes out heavily through his nose. “You came here without an escape plan.”</p><p>“Well, we had one,” Jaskier says. “It just got complicated.”</p><p>“I can’t communicate with Sabrina or Tissaia,” Triss says. “Something is blocking me. We don’t know where the others are. And my guess is that as soon as that alarm started going off, portaling in and out of this building became impossible.”</p><p>“Fantastic.” Yennefer flexes her hands.</p><p>“Can you fight?” Jaskier asks her.</p><p>Her smile is downright vicious. Gods, he missed her. “If it means finishing Fringilla? I think I’ll manage.”</p><p>The sounds of fighting from the hall abruptly cuts off, just as the lights come back on and the alarm stops. Jaskier, Geralt, Yennefer, Triss, and Eist all turn towards the door.</p><p>“Eskel?” Jaskier calls. “Lambert?”</p><p>No answer. Geralt takes the knife out of Jaskier’s belt and positions himself between Jaskier and the door. Before Jaskier can protest— Geralt may have five hundred years of fighting experience, but he’s just as mortal as Jaskier right now— Yennefer and Triss step in front of both of them. Shoulder to shoulder, the two sorceresses stand between the three human men and whatever’s waiting in the hallway.</p><p>A portal opens and the room fills with mages and soldiers, lining the wall and blocking the exit to the hallway. Yennefer and Triss back away, forcing Jaskier, Geralt, and Eist to retreat until Jaskier’s back hits the wall. Some of the soldiers are dragging bodies with them and Jaskier’s stomach drops when he recognizes them. Tissaia and Sabrina, both unconscious. Calanthe, Vesemir, Coën, Eskel, and Lambert, still conscious, but with glassy, unfocused looks in their eyes, And lastly, Fringilla comes through the portal, dragging Ciri by the arm.</p><p>Yennefer makes a noise like an angry cat. Eist starts forward, but Triss plants a hand on his chest to stop him. Ciri doesn’t look hurt, but her eyes blaze with furious tears.</p><p>“Good, you’re all here,” Fringilla says. “That makes this easier.”</p><p>“She’s just a child, Fringilla.” Triss’s voice is remarkably steady, even as she holds Eist and Yennefer back.</p><p>“Child or not, she’s an extremely powerful source. You’ve been wasting her potential.”</p><p>“If you hurt her…” Yennefer growls.</p><p>“What will you do, Yennefer?” Fringilla gestures to the mages and soldiers around her. “You’re outnumbered here.”</p><p>Geralt’s hand finds Jaskier’s, gently squeezing his fingers. Jaskier can’t see Geralt’s face, but he can see that his boyfriend is holding himself rigid, like if he thinks he braces hard enough, he’ll be able to stop the soldiers’ bullets and mages’ spells from ripping right through him and hitting Jaskier. Jaskier swallows, his mouth suddenly dry. With the line of armed soldiers and mages, it’s clear that this is an execution. Eist is out of ammo, Yennefer and Triss can’t fight back without risking the others, and Geralt and Jaskier only have one knife between them.</p><p>They’re fucked.</p><p>Jaskier looks at Fringilla’s self-satisfied smile and hot rage overtakes his terror. This woman captured and tortured Geralt, nearly killed Jaskier and Yennefer, and has been hunting Ciri and Calanthe for months. And for what?</p><p>“So, before the massacre begins, can I ask a question?” Jaskier asks. He doesn’t wait for an answer, just meets Fringilla’s arched eyebrow with a bland smile and continues, “What does the emperor want with a sixteen year old girl? You’ve subjugated the entire Continent and have thousands of powerful mages at your disposal, so why all this fuss over Ciril? Surely your emperor’s grip on power isn’t so tentative that one girl descended from a long-dead princess could upend it?”</p><p>Geralt’s grip on Jaskier’s hand tightens painfully in warning.</p><p>Jaskier ignores him. Maybe he can stall Fringilla long enough that Yennefer or Triss or someone can think of an escape plan. Or at least annoy her enough that she’ll murder them quickly. “Or are you planning to replace your emperor with Ciri? Swoop in and claim that she’s somehow the One True Heir to the throne, like you did with the Usurper? I guess it worked for you once. Though I don’t know how great your working relationship is going to be if you start off by slaughtering her friends and family.”</p><p>Fringilla’s mouth curves into a tight-lipped smile. “Jaskier, why don’t you come over here?”</p><p>Jaskier has never wanted to do anything less than walk towards Fringilla, but his legs don’t seem to realize that. He takes a step forward, colliding with Geralt’s back. Geralt turns and grabs him by the shoulders. </p><p>“Let go of Jaskier, Geralt,” Fringilla says and Geralt backs away, his hands falling to his sides. He gives Jaskier a helpless look. For the first time, Jaskier can see that his eyes are brown. Jaskier only gets a brief look at them before his legs carry him past Geralt and past Yennefer and Triss, who seem to be held back from him by a wall of magic. He stops directly in front of Fringilla and Ciri.</p><p>Jaskier bares his teeth into a smile, very glad Fringilla can’t hear how hard his heart is pounding. “You know, I’m flattered. I’ve never had anyone stalk me across the Continent. But you should know that I have a boyfriend. And even without his powers, he’s ten times the badass that you are.”</p><p>“Jaskier,” Geralt hisses, sounding anguished. Jaskier is held perfectly still by Fringilla’s powers. He can’t even turn his head to look at his boyfriend, which is just the first of the many cruelties he’s sure Fringilla is about to heap upon him.</p><p>There’s a glint in the sorceress’s eyes that scares him more than any of the soldiers’ guns that are pointed at him. “Ciri, I’m eager to see the effects of your powers. Why don’t you scream for me?”</p><p>Jaskier remembers Stregobor making the same request over a year ago and torturing Jaskier to try to gain Ciri’s compliance. His skin crawls.</p><p>Ciri shakes her head, but Jaskier can see the struggle on her face. With horror, he realizes that Fringilla is in her mind, trying to force Ciri to scream, just like she forced Jaskier to walk towards her.</p><p>“Come now, Ciri,” Fringilla says. “I want to see what your scream does to a human body.”</p><p>Jaskier realizes why he’s standing here, and it’s not to be tortured so Ciri will obey Fringilla. “No,” he says. “If you’re going to kill me, do it yourself. Don’t make her to it.”</p><p>Ciri will never forgive herself if Fringilla makes her hurt Jaskier. Her horrified green eyes are fixed on Jaskier’s face.</p><p>Fringilla ignores him. “Ciri, you’re going to scream for me eventually. You may as well make it easy on yourself.”</p><p>Behind Jaskier, he can hear Geralt, Eist, Triss, and Yennefer all trying to get to them. He forces himself to focus on Ciri’s face. “This isn’t your fault,” he tells her, trying to keep the terror out of his voice. “Okay? No matter what happens next, this isn’t your fault.”</p><p>Ciri’s eyes are wide and slightly glassy. Her face contorts with the effort of resisting Fringilla’s magic.</p><p>“Cirilla,” Fringilla says. “Scream.”</p><p>Jaskier closes his eyes as Ciri’s mouth stretches into a scream.</p><p>The previous two times he’s experienced Ciri’s power, he thought his head would explode with the sheer force of it. This time, the scream  rattles in his skull and makes his bones ache, but that crushing pressure isn’t there. He opens his eyes to see blood gushing from Fringilla’s eyes, nose, and mouth. The sorceress’s lips are parted in shock and she’s reaching towards Ciri, but she seems paralyzed by the force of the scream.</p><p>Then Fringilla falls like a puppet with its strings cut and the sound of Ciri’s scream dies away.</p><p>For a moment, everyone is frozen, either staring at the prone form of the most powerful woman in Nilfgaard or at the girl who brought her down.</p><p>And then the room explodes into motion. Jaskier isn’t sure who attacks first, but the next thing he knows, Fringilla’s spell is broken and Vesemir, Coën, Eskel, and Lambert are all on their feet, blades flying through the air. Calanthe is up too. Someone confiscated her weapons, but that isn’t stopping her from beating the shit out of a soldier with her bare hands while Eist backs her up. Yennefer is taking on the surviving mages while Triss tries to revive Sabrina and Tissaia.</p><p>And Ciri is kneeling on the floor in the middle of the chaos, staring at Fringilla with open-mouthed horror. With bullets and spells flying all around her, she’s too vulnerable. Jaskier lunges forward and pulls her into his arms, curling his body around hers to protect her.</p><p>“I could have killed you,” Ciri gasps into Jaskier’s chest. "That could have been you."</p><p>Fringilla is still twitching, but there’s so much blood. Jaskier shudders. “But you didn't. I'm okay.”</p><p>“Gods.” Ciri’s hands fist in the front of his shirt. “<em>Gods.</em>”</p><p>“It’s okay.” Jaskier says, even though people are screaming and dying around them and he’s too afraid to look to see who the bodies on the floor belong to. He has to hope that Yennefer and Triss are keeping Geralt safe.</p><p>A mage comes at Jaskier and Ciri, teeth bared in rage as he summons an undoubtedly nasty bit of magic. Jaskier has no weapons. There’s nowhere to run without most likely getting shot. He can only hold Ciri tighter and hope that he takes the brunt of the spell. The mage is only a step away from them when he’s blasted backwards, smashing through the window into the hallway. Heart pounding, Jaskier looks around and finds Geralt standing behind him with his hands outstretched.</p><p>Jaskier sags in relief. “You can still cast signs?”</p><p>Geralt nods, watching the shattered window with narrowed eyes. “Signs were taught, not part of the mutations.”</p><p>A soldier stumbles backwards, clearly stunned from a blow delivered by someone else. Geralt grabs him, swiftly disarms him, and drives the butt of the soldier’s own gun into the base of the man’s skull. The soldier crumples. At Jaskier’s stare, Geralt just shrugs. “I may be human, but I still know what I’m doing.”</p><p>“I can see that.” Jaskier’s voice comes out a little breathless, earning him a <em>“now is not the time”</em> look from his boyfriend.</p><p>“You’re human?” Ciri looks up at Geralt with bewilderment. “Geralt, your eyes…”</p><p>Geralt smiles reassuringly. “Everything’s fine, princess. They’re just eyes.”</p><p>Another soldier comes barreling at them and Geralt puts himself between Ciri and Jaskier and the soldier. The soldier doesn’t have a gun, but a wicked-looking machete. Abruptly, Jaskier remembers that Geralt is just as vulnerable to injury as any human. If he gets stabbed, he won’t be able to take a potion and meditate until he heals. Jaskier is about to stand, but Geralt seizes the soldier by the wrist and twists while driving his forehead into his opponent’s face with enough force to break the soldier’s nose. The soldier drops.</p><p>Geralt winces and touches his forehead. “Ow.”</p><p>“Yeah, human heads are fragile,” Jaskier says. “Human everything is fragile, actually. You’ll get used to it.”</p><p>“Hm.” Geralt seems unimpressed by his own body’s fortitude. He looks tired and vulnerable with a bruise already forming on his forehead and Jaskier needs to get him out of this room before anything else terrible happens to him.</p><p>“Come on.” Jaskier pulls Ciri to her feet and grabs the fallen soldier’s machete. “We need to get somewhere safer. There are too many people in this room.” Geralt looks like he might protest, but Jaskier cuts him off. “Don’t look at me like that, Geralt. We’re not adding anything to this fight. The others have this handled.”</p><p>Two soldiers try to stop them as they make their way to the door, but Coën forces the Nilfgaardians back. Geralt exchanges nods with the witcher. They step out into the hallway, skirting around the prone form of the mage Geralt blasted through the window.</p><p>“Where are we going?” Ciri asks.</p><p>“I don’t know.” The hall offers few hiding spots. Jaskier hasn’t really thought this through, beyond getting Ciri and Geralt out of the line of fire. “Somewhere that isn’t a tiny room with two dozen people trying to kill each other.”</p><p>He hears the hiss of a portal opening behind him and just has time to push Ciri away, towards Geralt, before a merciless hand locks around his throat, fingernails digging into his flesh. Jaskier can feel the prickle of magic on his skin. The machete falls out of his suddenly limp fingers.</p><p>“Cirilla, come with me.” Fringilla’s voice is a pained rasp in his ear. “Or he dies.”</p><p>“Let him go!” Ciri starts towards them, but Geralt pushes her behind him.</p><p>“You can’t have her,” Geralt tells Fringilla, voice even. “It’s over, Fringilla. Let Jaskier go.”</p><p>Fringilla’s fingernails dig in deeper and Jaskier gasps. “You’ve lost everything, Geralt. Are you going to sit by and lose Jaskier too?”</p><p>Geralt’s jaw clenches. “Hurting him will be the last thing you ever do.”</p><p>Fringilla laughs without humor. “You’re not a witcher anymore. What can someone like you do to someone like me?”</p><p>Geralt’s silence is answer enough. His fists clench helplessly at his sides.</p><p>Jaskier’s eyes meet Geralt’s. He can see the pain and fear in Geralt’s eyes, which is somehow so much worse than his own terror. He tries for a reassuring smile. “Geralt, it’s okay. Just take Ciri and get out of here. I’ll hold her off.”</p><p>He doesn’t know how he’ll do that, but he’s willing to improvise.</p><p>“It’s okay,” he tells Geralt again, even though it’s not okay. Jaskier really wants to beg for his life right now, but he knows it won’t do any good. Fringilla won’t show mercy.</p><p>Naked anguish flashes across Geralt’s face. “Jaskier…”</p><p>“Decide, Butcher,” Fringilla snaps. “Jaskier or Ciri?”</p><p>“Please, go.” Jaskier’s voice cracks. He can’t look at Geralt’s face for a minute longer, knowing it’s the last time he’ll see the man he loves.</p><p>“That’s enough, Fringilla.” Yennefer emerges into the hallway, blood-splattered and furious, with Triss on her heels. “This is over.”</p><p>“Not yet.” Fringilla keeps Jaskier between her and the other sorceresses, using him as a shield.</p><p>Yennefer takes a step forward. The air around her seems to crackle with power. “I told you once that this man is under my protection. Do you really think I’m going to let you hurt him?”</p><p>“Yenn,” Jaskier croaks. He’s going to tell her to get Ciri and Geralt out, but Fringilla’s grip tightens and he suddenly can’t speak.</p><p>Something flickers in Yennefer’s expression. “Anything you do to him, I will do to you ten times worse.”</p><p>“Will you?” The hand around Jaskier’s throat becomes white hot and he can’t stop the pained noise that escapes his mouth.</p><p>“Fringilla, stop.” Triss steps forward. “You’re dying. I can sense it. But if you let Jaskier go, I can heal you. No one else needs to die today.”</p><p>Fringilla scoffs. “The sunshine and rainbows routine got old centuries ago, Triss. Go back to cowering behind Yennefer.”</p><p>Triss’s expression hardens. “How’s this for sunshine and rainbows? Let Jaskier go, or Yennefer here is going to kill you and I’m going to help her. And even if you overpower us, you’ll continue bleeding to death. You’ll be dead before you can bring Ciri to your emperor. Or was Jaskier right, and you’re planning on making Ciri the new empress?”</p><p>“The current regime has gotten stale,” Fringilla says. “It’s time for a change.”</p><p>“My first order would be to burn you at the fucking stake.” Ciri tries to escape Geralt’s grasp and lunge at Fringilla, but Geralt pulls her closer to him.</p><p>“You say that now.” Fringilla’s words end in a pained coughing fit. When she recovers, she adds, “But I’m very persuasive, little princess. You’re about to get a demonstration. Isn’t that right, Jaskier?”</p><p>There’s the sound of footsteps running down the hall a floor above them and Fringilla chuckles. “You know what that’s the sound of? More backup. How many more soldiers do you think your little band of misfits will be able to handle?”</p><p>Jaskier meets Yennefer’s eyes. <em>“Don’t do anything stupid,”</em> her expression says. <em>“You know I’m going to,”</em> his says in return. </p><p>Fringilla may be a sorceress, but she’s physically smaller than Jaskier and weakened by Ciri’s attack. Plus, of all the threats in the room, Jaskier doesn’t seem to register on her radar. She’s focused on Yennefer, Triss, Geralt, and Ciri; to her, Jaskier is just a pawn to be used and thrown away. So she doesn’t expect it when he drives all his weight back against her, slamming her into the wall. Fringilla cries out and her grasp on her throat loosens. Jaskier dives for his dropped machete and Fringilla seizes him by the arm.</p><p>He turns and sees that blood is still sluggishly trickling from her eyes, nose, and ears. Triss was right; she looks like she’s on death’s door. Jaskier slashes at her with the machete and she releases him. He scrambles backwards, knowing that he doesn’t want to be caught in the middle of a fight between Fringilla, Yennefer, and Triss. Fringilla’s face twists into a snarl as she follows him. She has to know she doesn’t stand a chance against Yennefer and Triss without her human shield.</p><p>And then Yennefer is between them, fire blazing on her palms. There’s shouting and Jaskier looks around to see more soldiers running towards them in both directions. His stomach drops. Even if Yennefer takes out Fringilla, they stand no chance against all those soldiers.</p><p>“Triss, cover them!” Yennefer shouts.</p><p>Geralt grabs Jaskier by the hand and pulls him up into a one-armed embrace, his other arm wrapped around Ciri. Triss steps in front of Geralt, Jaskier, and Ciri, arms outstretched, just as the flames in Yennefer’s hands explode outwards. Before Jaskier can process what’s happening, the whole hallway is an inferno of flames. </p><p>Fringilla throws her hands out in a futile last attempt to save herself before she’s engulfed. The soldiers don’t stand a chance; they vanish into the flames before any of them have time to fire a single bullet. The fire rages around them, with Triss the only barrier between the humans and the full force of Yennefer’s power. Jaskier knows he should be terrified, but he’s only transfixed, huddled against Geralt and Ciri as he watches Yennefer.</p><p>Dimly, he thinks that if he knew earlier that Yennefer could do this, he would have taken pains not to annoy her so much.</p><p>“Yennefer, that’s enough!” Triss shouts.</p><p>Yennefer’s face is screwed up in fury, her eyes reflecting the light of the flames. Blood is trickling from her nose.</p><p>“Yenna!” Triss’s voice takes on a tinge of desperation.</p><p>Yennefer’s gaze snaps to Triss and the cold rage in her eyes fades. The flames around them die, leaving blackened walls and floors and the burnt husks of Fringilla and the soldiers. Jaskier carefully doesn’t look at the corpses; he doesn’t need any more nightmare fodder. Calanthe, Eist, and the witchers all appear to be okay, staring out into the hallway with stunned expressions that Jaskier is sure mirror his own. Sabrina and Tissaia are both conscious, if dazed, leaning against Eskel for support.</p><p>Yennefer staggers and Triss hurries forwards to support her. Yennefer closes her eyes and leans her forehead against Triss.</p><p>“Thanks,” Yennefer says.</p><p>“I got you, Yenna.” Triss’s voice is soft and achingly tender. Jaskier melts a little.</p><p>Yennefer looks past Triss. When she sees Geralt, Jaskier, and Ciri unharmed, she looks visibly relieved. Ciri runs to hug her and Yennefer pulls her into an embrace, smiling.</p><p>“We’re all okay,” Yennefer murmurs in a voice so low that Jaskier barely hears her. “Now, why don’t we get the hell out of here?”</p><p>***</p><p>When they get back to the farmhouse, there’s a flurry of activity. There are injuries to be tended to— a bullet wound in Calanthe’s arm, a cut on Eist’s forehead, an ugly gut wound that Coën wants to shrug off as “just a scratch,” in true witcher fashion. With Tissaia and Sabrina’s abilities depleted by dimeritium, Triss and Yennefer take turns tending to the injuries and putting up more wards around the farmhouse, until their powers are depleted as well. With Fringilla dead, it’s unlikely that anyone will be coming after them, at least tonight, but it’s better safe than sorry. There’s a lot of chatter as everyone exchanges battle stories, relieved that they’re all alive.</p><p>Geralt and Jaskier don’t join in. Instead, they retreat upstairs, to the claw-footed bathtub in the tiny bathroom. The bathtub is far too small for two full-grown men, but after Geralt takes a shower to wash up the worst of the filth, they fill the tub with piping hot water and curl up together. Jaskier is too tired to even think about sex, and he imagines Geralt probably feels the same, but they take comfort in holding each other. Jaskier takes the time to wash Geralt’s hair, detangling the filthy white locks and massaging his scalp with gentle fingers. After Geralt’s hair is clean, they sit with Geralt’s back pressed against Jaskier’s chest and Jaskier’s legs bracketing Geralt’s hips.</p><p>They don’t speak for a long time. There’s nothing to say.</p><p>“I forgot how bad human vision is,” Geralt finally says. “It’s amazing you don’t all run into walls.”</p><p>Jaskier presses a kiss to the back of his neck. “I think that means you might need glasses, love.”</p><p>“Hm.”</p><p>“You just need time to adjust,” Jaskier says, which sounds silly to his own ears. How the fuck does he know? He has no idea what it means to transition from being a witcher to being a human. “How are you feeling?”</p><p>“Odd. Everything is quiet. And I don’t know what you’re thinking.”</p><p>“You don’t?”</p><p>“I used to be able to smell it when you were scared or angry and hear when your heart would start beating faster. Now there’s nothing.”</p><p>“Well, luckily for you, I’m pretty much an open book. Ask me, and I’ll always tell you how I’m feeling. I’ll probably tell you even when you don’t want to know.”</p><p>“What about now?”</p><p>Jaskier pauses, considering. “Exhausted. Relieved that Fringilla is dead and we’re all safe. Happy to have you back.”</p><p>Geralt turns to look at him and the miserable look on his face breaks Jaskier’s heart. “But I’m not the same. I’m not who I was the day Fringilla took me. I won’t be that person again. I’ll understand if you don’t… If you don’t want…”</p><p>“Geralt, no.” Jaskier kisses him. “Do you really think I love you because you're a witcher?”</p><p>“I was a witcher when we met.”</p><p>“And I was a barista! Actually, I wasn’t even a barista yet. I was unemployed. Do you not love me because I have a job now?”</p><p>“You know that’s different,” Geralt says, voice heavy. His eyes are a lovely honey brown, almost hazel. Jaskier will miss the gold (though he wouldn’t dream of telling Geralt that) but Geralt’s eyes are just as beautiful as they were before.</p><p>Jaskier nods, conceding the point. “But you’re the same man I fell in love with. The same man I’m going to love for the rest of my life, okay? That hasn’t changed.”</p><p>When Geralt doesn’t say anything, Jaskier wraps his arms around Geralt in a bear hug and pulls him close. “Your witcher powers weren’t what made you you. You weren’t you because you could see in the dark and strangle basilisks with your bare hands. You’re you because when shit hit the fan tonight, your first instinct was to protect Ciri. Your first instinct is always to protect other people. You’re you because Fringilla put you through hell and she still couldn’t break you. You’re you because you’re funny and kind and brave. You’re the best man I’ve ever known, Geralt. Fringilla can’t take that from you.”</p><p>“I won’t be able to fight most monsters now,” Geralt says. “Only the easy ones, like drowners. Your blog—”</p><p>“Don’t worry about my blog,” Jaskier says, though his blog and Geralt’s witchering are how they pay their bills, so they will have to talk about this eventually. Just not tonight. “I can figure something out. That’s not important right now.”</p><p>Some of the tension seems to go out of Geralt’s shoulders and he sags back against Jaskier. “I don’t know what I’m going to do now.”</p><p>“We can figure that out tomorrow, my love.” Jaskier brushes his lips over the top of Geralt’s head. “And we’ll figure it out together.”</p><p>***</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I hope that little bit of comfort at the end made up for the nine chapters of hurt? Maybe?</p><p>I'm going to try to post the last chapter on Monday so you don't have to wait a whole week for it. There will be more comfort and our boys figuring out what comes next for them.</p><p>Also, I have a new Tumblr, so feel free to find me at https://ghostinthelibrarywrites.tumblr.com/ if you want to yell at me about how mean I've been to Geralt for 50K words.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Of After</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>They all try to figure out what comes next.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>In the middle of the night, Geralt wakes with a start because everything is wrong. He can’t see in the dark. He can’t hear anything but his own ragged breathing. It’s only after a moment of sitting up, trying to orient himself, that he becomes aware of the shape of Jaskier in bed next to him.</p><p>Then he realizes he can’t hear Jaskier’s heartbeat.</p><p>“Jaskier!” Panic surges through him, sharp and fierce in a way he hasn’t experienced in centuries, as he seizes Jaskier by the shoulder and shakes him.</p><p>“What?” Jaskier rolls over, his voice heavy with sleep. “Geralt? What’s wrong?”</p><p>Geralt’s terror-fogged brain clears and he remembers that humans can’t hear each other’s heartbeats. His own heart is thundering wildly. “I thought… I couldn’t hear your heart beating.”</p><p>“Oh, Geralt, love.” Jaskier’s voice cracks. “Come here.” Gently, he pulls Geralt towards him so that Geralt’s cheek is pressed against his chest. “Listen.”</p><p>Geralt closes his eyes and listens to the steady thump of Jaskier’s heart.</p><p>“I’m okay,” Jaskier says. He smells like the soap from the bath earlier. It’s not his usual scent, but it’s nice. “We’re both okay, love.”</p><p>“Sorry,” Geralt mutters.</p><p>Jaskier strokes Geralt’s hair out of his face. “We’re in a house with four witchers, four sorceresses, two expert marksmen, and a girl with a magical scream. And me, the biggest badass of the bunch.”</p><p>Geralt snorts.</p><p>“We’re safe, I promise,” Jaskier says. “Now go back to sleep.”</p><p>And Geralt does, lulled by the sound of Jaskier’s heartbeat and the feeling of Jaskier’s fingers carding through his hair.</p><p>***</p><p>Yennefer leans against the kitchen counter and watches as Triss examines Geralt. Geralt sits at Eist’s kitchen table, staring down at the floor. He has a livid bruise on his forehead, which he won’t let Triss or Yennefer heal because “it’s just a bruise.” He doesn’t seem to care that it will be there for at least a week, if not more. Besides that, he looks… fine. Tired, which she imagines is normal for someone who just escaped days of captivity the night before. Sad, which isn’t surprising given everything that has happened. But still, he’s alive.</p><p>Triss steps back. “As far as I can tell, Geralt, you’re a perfectly normal human man in his mid-thirties. Your heart rate is normal. Your blood pressure is a bit high, but that’s probably stress. You should see a human doctor at some point for a real physical, but you seem healthy.”</p><p>“And you think he’ll age normally for a human?” Yennefer asks. She barely slept the night before, haunted by visions of waking up to find Geralt crumbled to dust and bones, with five hundred years’ worth of aging catching up to him overnight.</p><p>“As far as I can tell,” Triss says. “Whatever Fringilla did, it doesn’t seem to have had any adverse effects.”</p><p>“Except for turning me human.” Geralt’s voice is perfectly flat.</p><p>Triss winces. “Yes, except for that.”</p><p>“Thanks, Triss,” he says.</p><p>Triss gives his shoulder a sympathetic squeeze. “I’m going to go check on Coen’s ‘scratch.’”</p><p>She breezes out of the room, leaving Geralt and Yennefer facing each other.</p><p>“I could go back to Nilfgaard,” Yennefer says. “Try to figure out exactly what Fringilla did to you. The court will be in disarray. I could probably get in and out without too much trouble.”</p><p>“Sounds like a suicide mission.”</p><p>“If I find out how she did this, I can fix it.”</p><p>“She reversed the Trial of the Grasses. To undo that, I would have to undergo the Trials again. I wouldn’t survive. I’m too old.”</p><p>“We could—“</p><p>“Yenn, it’s okay.”</p><p>Yennefer closes her eyes. “No, it’s not. Fringilla can’t win.”</p><p>“She didn’t. She’s dead.” </p><p>“That’s not enough.” Fringilla didn’t even have time to scream. She died painlessly. Yennefer wishes she could go back and do it all again. Make Fringilla suffer properly, like she deserved.</p><p>Geralt heaves a sigh. “There used to be a lot of witchers who would have been happy to get the chance to be human again.”</p><p>“Were you one of them?”</p><p>“It was a shit life more often than not. Too many people I was too late to save. Too many villages that drove me out without pay. Too many stones thrown. Too many dead horses. Too many dead friends.”</p><p>Yennefer opens her eyes to study his face. He has dark shadows under his eyes for the first time since she’s known him. Geralt was always good at pretending anti-witcher sentiment didn’t bother him. He called rotten vegetables thrown at him “free food” and treated the snarled insults and threats as a mere irritation. One time, Yennefer saved him from being burned at the stake in Novigrad, and he only seemed mildly annoyed. Now she wonders if it was bravado.</p><p>“But?” she prompts gently, since she knows there’s a but.</p><p>“But it’s who I am.” Geralt tilts his head back and stares at the ceiling. “Who I was. I don’t know how to be anyone else.”</p><p>“It’s been a day, Geralt. You have time to figure it out.”</p><p>“Hm,” Geralt grunts and Yennefer thinks he’s had enough of sharing his feelings for the decade, but then he adds, “Witchers don’t retire. They fight monsters until they die. I would have been fine with that, until…”</p><p>He trails off, so she finishes his thought for him. “Until Jaskier.” A few years ago— maybe even a few days ago— she would have had it in her to be hurt that Jaskier could inspire that urge to settle down in Geralt, when she never could. But now that she’s seen the way Jaskier and Geralt fit together and how far they’re willing to go to protect each other, she gets it.  </p><p>Geralt nods. “If someone like Fringilla had come along and asked if I wanted my mutations taken away, I would have thought about it.”</p><p>“Did you want this?” Yennefer tries her hardest to keep her voice neutral.</p><p>Geralt hesitates. “I never got a choice about being a witcher. None of us did. I would have liked one about becoming human again.”</p><p>“And if you had been given a choice?”</p><p>“Don’t know. Guess we’ll never find out.”</p><p>Yennefer goes to sit across from him. “Say the word, and I will tear Nilfgaard down if it means finding a solution.”</p><p>“I know you would,” he says. “But there isn’t a solution, Yenn.”</p><p>She knows he’s right and she fucking hates it. “If you decide that you still want to hunt monsters, we will find a way. I can spell armor so nothing short of a bomb dropping on you will be able to puncture it. I can enchant your swords so they can cut through anything.”</p><p>Geralt smiles wryly. “Not sure if this body is made for fighting monsters if it can’t even handle a headbutt.”</p><p>“Maybe if you try to learn how to fight like a human and not a witcher, you’ll be able to handle it.” Yennefer reaches out to take his hand. “Or you can find a new path. You get to grow old with the man you love. That’s something you never thought you would get to do.”</p><p>Geralt’s smile becomes more genuine and he glances towards the open window. They can hear Jaskier and Ciri talking with the witchers on the porch. Jaskier laughs, loud and boisterous, and some of the light returns to Geralt’s eyes.</p><p>“I’m glad you have him,” Yennefer says quietly.</p><p>Geralt nods. “Me too.”</p><p>She looks away so he won’t see the emotion on her face. She’s known Geralt for well over half her life. He has been important to her, in one way or another, since the day they met. And she spent most of the last century not talking to him, because she was furious, hurt, and stubborn and because she thought they had all the time in the world to find their way into each other’s lives again. What’s a century, when there are endless years to come? And now, she’ll be lucky to have him in her life for another sixty years.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” she says. “I wish we had spent less time fighting, and more time being friends.”</p><p>Geralt squeezes her hand. “We still have time. I’m not dying tomorrow.”</p><p>“You better not.”</p><p>They sit in silence for a long time, before it’s broken by Jaskier bursting through the front door. Both Yennefer and Geralt tense, suddenly alert.</p><p>Jaskier points at Geralt, face filled with incredulous delight. “Geralt Roger Eric du Haute-Bellegarde? Really?”</p><p>Geralt groans and calls, “Lambert, Eskel, you assholes!”</p><p>***</p><p>“So let me get this straight. You thought having six names would make people take you more seriously?”</p><p>“I was young. Are we still discussing this?”</p><p>Jaskier grins up at his boyfriend. “Yes. Yes we are.”</p><p>“Hm.” Geralt is smiling, despite his attempts at seeming annoyed. After how terrified he was when he woke up in the middle of the night and how exhausted he was this morning, it’s nice to see. “Alright, Julian Alfred Pankratz.”</p><p>“That’s three names. A perfectly acceptable amount of names.”</p><p>Geralt and Jaskier sit on the lawn behind Eist’s house, while Eskel and Eist cook burgers and hot dogs on the grill; the sorceresses, Vesemir, and Calanthe are deep in conversation on the deck; and Coen shows Ciri some complicated bit of swordplay while Lambert calls unhelpful suggestions. It would be an ordinary cookout, if it weren’t for the fact that they’re all trying to ignore the news coming out of Nilfgaard about Fringilla Vigo’s death and the rumors that the emperor’s court has already descended into chaos. None of them have any idea what’s coming next, but for tonight, they’re going to eat, talk, and pretend that the last week never happened.</p><p>Tomorrow, Geralt and Jaskier will return to Posada. Geralt will walk into their house as a human man for the first time. Jaskier will have to show him the spot where he took his first human life. And then somehow they’ll have to go through the motions of going to get Mousesack from the cat sitter's place and finding Jaskier a cheap replacement for his poor, crushed car. And maybe a replacement for Roach too, though that won’t be easy. They’ll need to get back to their normal life, when nothing at all feels normal.</p><p>Ciri comes over to sit with Jaskier and Geralt, a plate of food balanced on her lap. “Hi, Mr. Bellegarde,” she says sweetly.</p><p>Geralt groans and lies back on the grass. Jaskier cackles and high-fives Ciri, then steals a potato chip off her plate. She’s grown unaccustomed to his food-stealing ways and is too slow to stop him.</p><p>Ciri scowls at him. “Watch it. Coen just showed me a new way to stab people.”</p><p>“You already know so many ways to stab people, what’s one more?” Jaskier shrugs.</p><p>She sticks her tongue out at him. “Well, I’m going to Kaer Morhen to learn how to become a witcher, so I’ll know even more ways soon.”</p><p>“You’re what?” Geralt sits up abruptly. “That’s impossible. Even if they found a way to recreate the Trials, they killed most of us. Vesemir wouldn’t—”</p><p>Ciri’s eyes are wide. Jaskier doubts she’s ever seen such an outburst of emotion from Geralt. “I’m not going through the Trials! They’re just going to teach me how to fight like you.”</p><p>“Oh.” Geralt looks away, jaw still tense.</p><p><em>“Sorry,”</em> Ciri mouths at Jaskier, looking stricken.</p><p>Jaskier rubs circles on Geralt’s back. “Kaer Morhen should be safe for you. It’s remote.”</p><p>Ciri nods. “That’s what Vesemir says. No one even knows that people still live there. But Vesemir is still there and Lambert and Coen are going to move in to train me. Eskel still travels a lot, but he says he’ll try to stop by once a month or so. And Triss is going to come too!”</p><p>“What about your grandmother?” Jaskier glances over at Calanthe and sees her watching them. She smiles at him, looking a little sad.</p><p>Ciri’s voice drops. “Gran says that a lot of people still need to die before it’s safe for us to live out in the open. So she and Eist are going to meet up with some of their old friends and make that happen.”</p><p>Calanthe, international assassin. Jaskier is really going to have to sit down and get her life story from her one of these days.</p><p>“Maybe you could visit sometime,” Ciri says, almost shyly, looking between Geralt and Jaskier.</p><p>Jaskier would give his left testicle to see Kaer Morhen, but he knows it’s not his decision. He turns to Geralt.</p><p>Geralt offers Ciri a small smile. “Maybe someday,” he says and reaches out to ruffle her hair. “You’re going to make a great witcher.”</p><p>Ciri beams at that and Jaskier feels a warm glow spread through his chest.</p><p>***</p><p>After spending hours discussing Ciri’s future training with Calanthe, Vesemir, and her fellow sorceresses, Yennefer wanders away from the conversation. She notices Jaskier sitting against a tree, eating a hamburger and looking up at the stars.</p><p>“Where’s Geralt?” Yennefer asks him.</p><p>Jaskier nods to a spot across the yard, where Yennefer sees Geralt playing Gwent with Lambert, Eskel, and Coen. “He hasn’t seen Eskel or Coen in years. I thought he might want some time with just his brothers.”</p><p>Yennefer sits down next to him, settling her back against the tree trunk. “How is he?”</p><p>“Holding up,” Jaskier says. “You know him. He doesn’t know how to not be stoic.”</p><p>“It’s going to be a hard road.”</p><p>“I know. He woke me up in a panic last night because he couldn’t hear my heartbeat.”</p><p>Oh, Geralt. Yennefer winces. “He’ll adjust. He has to.”</p><p>“So there’s no way—”</p><p>“He told me not to look into it and I’m going to respect his wishes, unless he changes his mind.”</p><p>Jaskier nods slowly. “You know, now that we’re friends—”</p><p>“We’re not friends.”</p><p>“Oh, come on, Yenn, I think we’re past that.”</p><p>Yennefer blows an errant lock of hair out of her face. “I didn’t realize you were so desperate for friends that you would need me.”</p><p>“Or maybe I just like you as a person.”</p><p>She eyes him suspiciously.</p><p>Jaskier snorts with laughter. “Gods, Yenn, we spent days on the run from assassins and monsters and anti-magic bigots. We’re fucking friends. And now that we’re friends, you should come to Posada more often. Stop by for dinner once in a while. Geralt is going to need all the friends he can get now. And I know this is going to shock you, but I really don’t have many friends. I mean, I do, but they’re all from high school or college and they live in Redania. I could use a friend too.”</p><p>All traces of humor are gone from his face. He looks painfully sincere and it does something to Yennefer’s heart. “Fine,” she says. “I suppose I can stop by a couple of times a month. You two idiots are going to need someone to stop you from getting yourself killed.”</p><p>And there’s always the possibility that once word gets out that Geralt is human now, old enemies of his will come out of the woodwork, looking for revenge. Yennefer is going to have to keep a close eye on them. She doesn’t intend to let anyone lay a hand on Geralt or Jaskier ever again.</p><p>“And…” Jaskier gestures for her to continue.</p><p>Yennefer sighs. “And I suppose it would be nice to see a couple of friends.”</p><p>“Did that hurt? It sounded like it hurt.”</p><p>“Fuck off, skinny jeans.”</p><p>“Oh, Yenn, you big softie.” Jaskier leans towards her so their shoulders are bumping. Yennefer begrudgingly allows it. “As your friend, can I give you some advice?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“You know, true friendship is all about not listening to each other sometimes. You should talk to Triss.”</p><p>Yennefer glances over. Triss is standing behind Eskel, leaning over and looking at his cards. She’s laughing at something he said. Something almost like jealousy lances through Yennefer, which is absurd. Eskel has his succubus and Triss…</p><p>“I was talking to Triss five minutes ago.” Yennefer brushes some grass off her skirt.</p><p>“I know you think you have centuries to figure your shit out,” Jaskier says quietly. “But I think if the last few days should have taught us anything, it’s that we can’t count on immortals staying immortal. If you woke up tomorrow and found out you had a normal human lifespan, would you have regrets?”</p><p>“Wise words for someone who just finished puberty.”</p><p>“Insult me all you want. I’m still right.” Jaskier nudges her as Triss turns to head across the lawn, towards the house. “Go talk to her, Yennefer.”</p><p>“But we’re having such a nice conversation.”</p><p>“You’re right. You know, I was thinking of writing a version of ‘Toss a Coin’ for you. What do you think? <em>Toss a coin to your sorceress, oh valley of plenty…</em>”</p><p>“Doesn’t scan.” Yennefer climbs to her feet. “And if you ever sing a single sentence about me, I will turn your tongue into a worm. See if I don’t.”</p><p>“That’s not even in your top ten threats you’ve uttered this week, Yenn. You know, if you would prefer, I can talk to Triss on your behalf. I’ll pass her a note. <em>Are you madly in love with Yennefer? Circle yes or no.</em> After all, what are friends for?”</p><p>Yennefer walks away, ignoring whatever encouraging nonsense Jaskier shouts after her, and follows Triss into the house. She finds Triss in the kitchen, crushing up potion ingredients with a mortar and pestle.</p><p>“Geralt has finally agreed to let me put a bruise balm on his forehead,” Triss says by way of greeting. “He won’t agree to magical healing, but something to numb the pain a bit is fine.”</p><p>Yennefer looks over her shoulder with a raised eyebrow. “That’s not a bruise balm. That will heal his head by tomorrow.”</p><p>“Yes, but he won’t know that until tomorrow.”</p><p>Yennefer snorts and leans against the counter next to her, taking in the soft, self-satisfied curve of Triss’s mouth and the spark of mischief in her eyes.</p><p>“I am sorry.” Triss’s smile wilts. “I know that Geralt is important to you. This must be hard.”</p><p>Yennefer nods. It is hard to know that Geralt will be gone in a matter of decades and there’s nothing she can do about it. “All we can do is make sure that Geralt and Jaskier live happy, safe, uneventful lives for the next fifty or sixty years.”</p><p>“How likely do you think that is?”</p><p>“Not likely at all, but I can dream.” Yennefer watches Triss’s hands as she mixes the healing salve. Triss has nice hands, surprisingly strong for a woman of her slender frame. Healers can’t afford to have delicate hands. “So, you’re moving to Kaer Morhen.”</p><p>“For a time,” Triss says. “Ciri’s a sixteen year old girl. She would be miserable alone in a keep with three centuries-old men.”</p><p>“I think she’ll hold her own.”</p><p>“Oh, she will. The poor things think that training her will be nice and easy.” Triss hesitates, then gives Yennefer a shy look. “You could join us.”</p><p>“Live in a drafty old ruin? No thank you.”</p><p>“What do you think Aretuza is?”</p><p>She has a point.</p><p>“I could use another sorceress to help me with Ciri’s training,” Triss says. “And… well, I’d like the company, if I’m being honest, especially since we don’t know how long I’ll be there. Vesemir and Coen are lovely, but gods, Lambert is such a prick.”</p><p>“You want me to move to Kaer Morhen with you to protect you from Lambert?”</p><p>Triss’s cheeks turn pink. “I don’t want you to move <em>with</em> me. We already live together. I just…”</p><p>As fun as it is to watch Triss squirm, Yennefer takes pity on her. “Jaskier told me that you and I should have a talk.”</p><p>Triss’s eyebrows shoot up. “Oh?”</p><p>“Or.” Gingerly, Yennefer takes Triss by the wrist and draws her close. “We could skip the talking.”</p><p>There’s a beat of silence, before Triss brandishes the herb-covered pestle at Yennefer. “No, we aren’t skipping the talking, Yennefer. This has been going on for over four and a half centuries. We aren’t doing the thing you used to do with Geralt, when whenever feelings got inconvenient, you two would spend a week in bed together and ignore them until they went away. So, we’re going to use our words.”</p><p>Yennefer opens her mouth, then closes it. Maybe she should have asked Jaskier to be the one to talk to Triss. “You’re my best friend, Triss. One of the most important people in my life. Every romantic relationship I’ve ever been in has ended in flames. I never wanted that to be us.”</p><p>“You think we would end in flames?”</p><p>“It’s always a possibility with me. Sometimes literally.” Yennefer waggles her fingers.</p><p>Triss rolls her eyes. “Yennefer, Istredd put you on a pedestal and was a backstabbing ass to boot. Geralt, gods love him, had no one else in his life and relied on you for all his emotional needs. Every other person you’ve ever been with has seen you as some kind of untouchable goddess or a conquest. But I know you. I’ve known you for too long to look at you through rose-colored glasses. And that’s why I love you. All of you.”</p><p>Yennefer doesn’t know what to say to that. “I don’t want to ruin this.”</p><p>“Then don’t,” Triss says quietly and kisses her.</p><p>In Yennefer’s experience, first kisses are often awkward things, clashes of tongue and teeth as both parties try to get a feel for each other. With a lot of people, there’s often that struggle for dominance as they try to take the lead and realize that Yennefer has never let anyone lead her anywhere in her life and isn’t about to start now. But there’s none of that with Triss. They’ve been friends so long and know each other so well that Triss’s mouth is as familiar as if they’ve kissed a thousand times before. Yennefer puts her hands on Triss’s waist and pulls her closer, as Triss reaches up to tangle her fingers in Yennefer’s hair.</p><p>When they break away, they’re both breathing hard. Triss’s cheeks are flushed and her eyes bright.</p><p>“I love you too.” Yennefer leans her forehead against Triss’s and breathes in the scent of herbs from the healing salve. Triss always smells like herbs. “I’ve loved you since we were both at court.”</p><p>Triss laughs sadly. “And you couldn’t have said anything earlier?”</p><p>“That would have been easy. I never make things easy on myself, you know that.” Yennefer shrugs. “Now, are we done talking? We have several centuries to make up for.”</p><p>Triss glances towards the salve. “Geralt—”</p><p>“Has an extraordinarily hard head, witcher or not. Trust me, I would know. He’ll be fine.”</p><p>Triss’s smile turns sly and she takes a step backwards, towards the stairs, pulling Yennefer with her. “Well, I suppose we do have a lot of catching up to do.”</p><p>***</p><p>Their first night back in Posada, Geralt and Jaskier get takeout noodles and huddle together on the couch as they eat, with Mousesack purring on Geralt’s lap. Jaskier doesn’t mention the way Geralt’s hand periodically travels to Jaskier’s wrist, as if to check his pulse. They don’t mention the cabinet full of potions that Geralt will never be able to use again or the whetstone that still sits on the coffee table. They don’t mention Roach, though Jaskier doesn’t miss the way Geralt’s jaw tenses when Jaskier mentions going to a used car dealership to replace his own car. When Yennefer went to retrieve their things from Jaskier’s car that morning, she confirmed that the car was completely flattened by the krallach. There’s no fixing it; the best Jaskier can do is remember it fondly.</p><p>“Don’t get another piece of shit,” is all Geralt says.</p><p>“Love, a piece of shit is all we can afford right now.”</p><p>Geralt flinches at that.</p><p>“Hey.” Jaskier puts his hand on Geralt’s knee. “That wasn’t a dig at you. I just think that until we figure some things out, we should save wherever we can. Replacing two cars isn’t going to be cheap.”</p><p>“Hm.” Geralt stares into his container of noodles. “Eskel said something about you traveling around with him sometimes. He focuses more on relocation than hunting, but could be good for your blog.”</p><p>The thought would usually be thrilling. Jaskier likes Eskel, plus seeing a different witcher’s methods sounds fascinating. But he doesn’t want Geralt to think he’s replacing him. “If you’re okay with that.”</p><p>Geralt shrugs. “Your blog makes money. We’ll need it.”</p><p>“I can find other ways to make money.”</p><p>“But you’re good at this. And you like it. So keep doing it.”</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier swallows back a lump in his throat. “You could come with us.” As awesome as Eskel is, it won’t be the same without Geralt.</p><p>Geralt looks away. “Maybe eventually. Need to figure out this body’s limitations first. I couldn’t just watch from the sidelines.”</p><p>“What do you think you’ll do in the meantime?” Jaskier asks carefully. He doesn’t want to push, but well… they have to eat. And for them to eat, they both need to be earning an income.</p><p>“I don’t know. Not really good at anything except killing things.”</p><p>“That’s not true.” Jaskier wracks his brain. It is true that pretty much all of Geralt’s hobbies and interests are related to being a witcher, but that doesn’t mean that’s all Geralt can do. “You know more about nature than pretty much anyone. You could be a park ranger. I can’t see you being a cop or joining the military, but we could try to find you a job as a security guard or something. Oh, or you could teach self-defense classes. You were good with Ciri.”</p><p>Geralt doesn’t say anything, so Jaskier leans against him, curling his body around his boyfriend’s. “It will be okay, Geralt. I know it doesn’t feel like it right now, but it will be.”</p><p>“I don’t want to hold you back.”</p><p>Jaskier looks up at him incredulously. “How do you think you’re holding me back?”</p><p>“It’s going to be like you’re living with a kid fresh out of college who doesn’t know what the hell he wants to do with his life.”</p><p>“You mean like I was when we first met? You helped me figure out what I wanted to do with my life. Let me help you.” Jaskier nudges Geralt. “If all else fails, you can always be a leather pants model.”</p><p>Geralt shifts uncomfortably. “Something’s wrong with these pants. They hurt to wear. Don’t know what Yenn did to them when she spelled them clean.”</p><p>“Do they burn a little?” When Geralt nods, Jaskier giggles. It shouldn’t be funny, but it kind of is. “Oh, love, that’s called chafing. That’s something that happens to us mere mortals when we wear leather pants on warm days.”</p><p>Geralt looks horrified. “So this is going to be all the time?”</p><p>“It will get worse when it gets hot out. And they won’t do shit to protect you against the cold.”</p><p>“Fuck.”</p><p>“You know what this means, right?” Jaskier rests his head on Geralt’s shoulder and gazes up at his boyfriend teasingly. “I’m finally going to get you into a pair of jeans.”</p><p>***</p><p>
  <strong>Two months later</strong>
</p><p>The morning news tells the same story it’s been telling for the last two months: with Fringilla Vigo dead, unrest has broken out across the Continent. The emperor barely made it two weeks before he and his family were assassinated. Several other high-level officials in the Nilfgaardian government have died in the intervening weeks. At least one or two of those assassinations are almost certainly Calanthe and Eist’s work, though Geralt isn’t sure which ones. With governments across the Continent declaring independence, Nilfgaardian forces have been trying (and largely failing) to quell the rising unrest. </p><p>Luckily, things in Aedirn have been peaceful so far, with the local government seemingly content to wait until other, braver governments take on Nilfgaard before they declare their own independence. Still, Geralt has seen this all before, played out dozens of times over the centuries. He knows it will get worse before it gets better. If it gets better.</p><p>With a sigh, he turns off the TV. His eyes are sore and grainy and he takes off his glasses to rub at them. His new job as a bouncer at a bar in downtown Posada is a reasonably decent job, but it keeps him out late. As a witcher, being up until four AM would have been no problem. As a human, it leaves him groggy and cranky.</p><p>“Sleep is actually important to humans,” Jaskier has told him over and over again. “You should try to get at least eight hours, even if that means sleeping the day away.”</p><p>But Geralt still struggles with the concept of sleeping past dawn, even if he doesn’t have much to do these days. There are no monsters to hunt, no swords to sharpen, no drills to run in the backyard. He can mostly ignore how stagnant his life seems these days when Jaskier is around, filling the house with his chatter and laughter. But Jaskier has been off with Eskel for three days, dealing with a stubborn family of rock trolls that have been causing issues for a mining town in the Kestrel Mountains. It’s the longest Jaskier has been away since Geralt’s abduction; Geralt has been on edge the entire time he’s been gone.</p><p>As soon as he hears the engine of Eskel’s old camper rumbling, Geralt feels the tension he’s been carrying in his shoulders for three days relax. It’s tempting to run to the door like an excited child, but he doesn’t want Jaskier to realize how lost Geralt felt while he was gone. Jaskier was so excited about going on a job with Eskel; Geralt won’t ruin that for him. So he putters around the kitchen until he hears the squeaky beep of the camper’s horn. Rolling his eyes, Geralt goes to the front door.</p><p>Eskel’s bright orange camper is parked on the curb, with Jaskier and Eskel both leaning against it, looking smug. And hitched to the camper’s rear bumper is Roach.</p><p>Geralt blinks and looks again. The car isn’t identical to Roach; it hasn’t been maintained as meticulously as Geralt maintained Roach. The brown paint job has flaws, there’s a ding in the front bumper, and it definitely needs new tires. But it’s close enough that Geralt feels a lump rise in his throat. It’s silly to mourn a car, when he lost so much else, but after thirty years with Roach, he didn’t even get to say goodbye.</p><p>Jaskier vibrates with excitement as he jogs towards Geralt and grabs him by the hands. “So we were driving through Kaedwen and we passed an estate sale and this beauty was parked on the side of the road with a For Sale sign in her window. It was like destiny finally decided to throw us a bone.”</p><p>Geralt doesn’t believe in destiny or fate, but as Jaskier drags him closer to the car, he sees that it’s nearly identical to Roach, down to the color of the leather seats.</p><p>“Same make, same model, even the same year as Roach,” Jaskier says eagerly. “It’s been sitting unused for a while, so it might be a bit of a fixer upper—”</p><p>“She’s perfect.” Geralt’s voice comes out hoarse around the lump in his throat as he runs his hand over the sun-warmed hood of the car.</p><p>“Good,” Eskel says with a grin. “I thought Jaskier was going to tackle the other buyer that was interested.”</p><p>Jaskier draws himself up in indignation. “I came nowhere close to tackling him. I didn’t have to. He took one look at Eskel and decided he had urgent business on the other side of the Continent.”</p><p>Eskel snorts. “What do you think, Wolf?”</p><p>Geralt is having trouble speaking. He can only stare at the car in awe. It’s ridiculous to be this emotional over a car, but fuck, she looks so much like Roach.</p><p>“Hey, is this okay?” Jaskier puts his hands on Geralt’s shoulders, suddenly looking worried. “If you want another car that doesn’t remind you of Roach, we can sell this one and get you another car. It’s just, it’s been two months and you haven’t seemed interested in looking at cars, so I thought—”</p><p>Geralt kisses him. He doesn’t care that Eskel is standing right there and that all the neighbors can see. “I love you,” he murmurs and Jaskier melts against him, like he always does when Geralt tells him that he loves him, even after all this time. Everything has been overwhelming and confusing for the last two months, but with Jaskier pressed up against him, things seem okay. Good, even.</p><p>Eskel clears his throat and Geralt and Jaskier pull apart. “So, you like it?” Eskel asks in that carefully mild voice he always uses when he’s trying not to give Geralt or Lambert a hard time.</p><p>“I do,” Geralt says. “Thank you. It’s… I wasn’t expecting this.”</p><p>“You deserve it.” Jaskier drops a kiss on Geralt’s cheek. “What are you going to name it?”</p><p>Geralt looks at his new car, so like his old friend, but just a little more worn down. He shrugs. “What else? Her name is Roach.”</p><p>***</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thanks again for reading, everyone!</p><p>There will be two more parts in this series. Next up will be a shorter fic that will deal with the ramifications of Geralt becoming human and how he figures out how to be his badass self again, even without his super powers. The other witchers will feature heavily and they may even make it to Kaer Morhen! I hope to start it sometime at the end of this month or the beginning of next month.</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you for reading! Updates will be weekly on Fridays.</p><p>Comments and kudos are always appreciated! My brain short-circuits when people are nice to me, so I often can't come up with any more coherent replies to your comments than "thank you." If you have questions, concerns, etc. my Tumblr is https://librarianjenn.tumblr.com/ I don't ever post about my writing or really anything fandom-related, but I'm always happy to respond to messages.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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